


Said the Spider to the Fly

by Verabird



Category: Political RPF - France 19th c.
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bonding, Break the Cuties, Butt Plugs, CBT, Cages, Caning, Chains, Cock Cages, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Dungeons, Flogging, Forced Orgasms, Gags, Groping, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Ice Play, M/M, Manacles, Manipulation, Masturbation, Multi, Outdoor Sex, Pet Names, Pet Play, Politics, Prolonged Chastity, Rope Bondage, Ruined Orgasms, Slapping, Trauma, Voyeurism, Wax Play, Whipping, minor incestuous undertones - you can potentially miss it or read over it and it affects nothing, one brief moment of underage - it's just a very creepy kiss you'll be fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 68,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8767582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: “Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;“’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. The members of the Paris Prefecture have been coasting through a life of inappropriate intimacy, sexual deviancy, and political nonchalance. Their cushy lives of joyous kinky sex are about to be interrupted by a visit from the Spanish Ambassador who seemingly comes in peace to enjoy the finer things of Paris, but hides a ruthless inner motive. Gisquet and Chabouillet have their own damning secrets. Gisquet's begins before the turn of the century, where a handsome older man who also happens to be the future Prime Minister takes him under his wing and trains him in obedience and loyalty. Chabouillet's past takes him to the battlefields of Spain where France fights a futile war, together with his spirited and charming younger brother - who would be better suited to an opera house than a cavalry charge - he is beset with tragedy and hope in equal measure. Back in the 1830s Gisquet is losing his grip on the things most precious to him, whilst Casimir's only grows stronger. Politics, betrayal, treachery, friendship, lies, devotion.And lots and lots of sex.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firestorm717](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firestorm717/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not usually one for author's notes, but I feel it's worth mentioning; I changed the spellings of everyone's names quite a few times while writing this, and as you might have noticed it's quite long (oops) so proofreading took a while so I only had the time to do one big thorough proofread. So something might have slipped through the cracks. Maybe. (Probably)
> 
> (It's like the difference between 'Perrier' and 'Périer' and half way through I decided to just call him 'Casimir' so it's likely to be that, but I have faith in my intelligent readers)

_“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;_  
_“’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy._

* * *

 

“He said it’s fine.”

It was impressive that Ernest could speak at all considering his mouth was buried in Jules’s neck, kissing fiercely and pulling apart his shirt with his fingers so that he could scrape his teeth down to Jules’s exposed collar bone. Jules closed his hands round Ernest’s small wrists.

“Did he really?”

“Yes, he said he wants us to do it.”

“Ernest! That’s two different things.”

Ernest glanced up at Jules and rolled his eyes at the fearful expression that greeted him complete with raised eyebrows and a bitten bottom lip. Ernest pressed his hand in Jules’s and reached up to cup his cheek.

“Jules, dear boy, I promise we have permission.”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

Ernest had few qualms with lying to Jules in this situation, especially since his cock was hard and already straining in his trousers, and the necessity for Jules to spread him over Gisquet’s desk and take him was growing by the minute. The boy was weak and he did not care.

With a soft moan Ernest took Jules’s hand in his and pressed it over that growing hardness. He smiled as Jules pressed in closer and took the opportunity to squeeze, then snake his hand behind Ernest’s back.

“Come on,” Ernest said breathlessly, grabbing Jules by the wrist and yanking him towards the Prefect’s desk. He shoved him against it, taking hold of his lapels and pulling him into another furious kiss. Ernest’s lips moved with intent, his tongue with an almost violent quality, and Jules fell with him. The desk shunted a pace across the floor as Jules fell back against it.

Ernest was now tugging at Jules’s coat, pulling it from his shoulders and divesting it unceremoniously onto the floor. With this article of clothing removed Ernest took the opportunity to run his hands down Jules’s chest, his fingers glancing over the pale blue embroidery that adorned his waistcoat, and then reaching up to tug at the silk bow around his neck. The cravat fell to the floor along with the forgotten coat, but Jules did not allow Ernest to undress him further before leaning in to capture his mouth again.

They kissed hungrily, Jules slipping his mouth past Ernest’s chin and down his neck, biting at pale skin, provoking the sweetest of moans from his fellow secretary. Jules grinned, biting harder, leaving a blossoming red mark. Ernest made a faint sound of protest, but it went ignored as Jules continued to scrape his teeth past Ernest’s neck and across his collar bone.

“This was your idea,” Jules whispered as his fingers reached up to slip Ernest’s waistcoat from his shoulders. “I know how you like it, don’t pretend you don’t.”

Ernest gasped, a sound of delight pouring from his lips. He reached his arms behind Jules’s back and gripped him tightly, pressing their bodies together, hardness to hardness, although Ernest had to stand on his toes to achieve this, almost a head shorter than Jules as he was.

He kissed Jules’s mouth again as Jules pressed his fingers to Ernest’s jaw, capturing his face with his hands. Ernest’s cheeks were hot and flushed and Jules’s fingertips were cool against his skin.

“On the desk,” Ernest barely breathed the words, but so close together Jules could hear them clearly. “Quick.”

Jules pulled back and gave Ernest an appraising look. “Turn around.”

Ernest did so, his heart was beating eagerly and his legs were trembling with excitement. Jules placed his hand in the small of Ernest’s back and pushed him towards the desk, not hard, but with enough force that Ernest put both his hands out to brace himself against the wood.

Jules slipped his fingers beneath Ernest’s waistband and pulled his trousers down as Ernest helped kick them past his ankles. Jules ran his hands over the pale skin of Ernest’s thighs, his fingers pressing into his smooth perfect arse.

“Does Monsieur Gisquet keep his oil in here?”

“He must do,” Ernest said, barely managing to keep a whimper from his voice. “But if you cannot find some then it is no matter.”

“No, don’t be silly.” Jules took his hands away as he stepped back and Ernest moaned in frustration.

“Fine, try the cabinet.”

Jules hurried to the mahogany cabinet where Gisquet kept all manner of toys when he wasn’t using them and tried the handle. It was locked despite his attempts. Ernest groaned. “Jules, speed is of the essence here.”

Jules turned back to the desk where Ernest was sprawled over it, naked and wanting, his cheeks flushed pink.

“Perhaps in the drawers.” Jules pulled open the first he found and rummaged through the papers. Frowning he drew one out. “Does Monsieur Gisquet speak Spanish?”

“How should I know?”

Jules turned the paper in his hand then ran a finger over the wax where a small crest was imprinted in the red circle. “Do you recognise this seal?”

“Jules!” Ernest splayed his fingers over the desk and rutted against it with a pointed expression. “I don’t care, now get over here.”

“Don’t you think it’s strange? It’s addressed to Monsieur Périer, but it’s here in Monsieur Gisquet’s desk. I can recognise our names in here too, but nothing else. Wait just a moment.” Jules paused and held the paper closer to his face, squinting carefully at the neat script written in a language he did not understand. “Chabouillet’s in here too. Who’s writing to the Prime Minister about all of us in Spanish?”

“For heaven’s sakes Jules!” Ernest had given up waiting for Jules to return and had thrust his hand between his thighs and was now stroking his own cock. Slow strokes, his broke furrowed and his lips parted. “Put it back and get over here.”

Jules folded and slipped the paper back in the drawer and slid it shut. He was still frowning, but turned to face Ernest. “Don’t be so impatient, take your hand away.”

Ernest gritted his teeth and gave himself one final stroke before placing his hand back on the table, moaning in the process. His cock twitched noticeably and his thighs quivered despite his attempts to stand still and braced against the desk. He raised his face to Jules and looked plaintively at him, letting a soft whimper escape his lips.

Jules watched him for a moment, licking his own lips and tugging at them with his teeth. “I’ll go fetch some oil from our rooms.”

“No!” Ernest cried out pitifully. “Just do it without.”

Jules made his way to the door and tentatively opened it a crack, glancing this way and that to check for wandering clerks or police officers. None of them would have permission to enter Gisquet’s office, but they could just as easily notice something through the gap.

“Jules! I don’t need oil! Do you think so little of me that you think I can’t take it?”

Jules scoffed. “I know you can take it. Don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself? You can be so selfish sometimes, do you really think I want to go in dry? It’s not fun for me either.”

“Jules,” Ernest moaned, practically crooning. “Sweet Jules, I’m sorry, just hurry up. I’m desperate.”

Ernest’s hand had slipped back between his thighs and was once more gripping his weeping cock. He stroked it gently, trying not to exert himself, attempting to keep himself hard for when Jules finally entered him.

“I can see that, you selfish boy, now take that hand away. Also the door is still open so you might want to lower your voice.”

Ernest put his palm back down on the table and groaned in frustration. Jules turned to look back out the gap between door and frame, his eyes narrowed.

“Nicolas!” He cried out suddenly, then lowered his voice and spoke again in a carrying whisper. “Nicolas! Come here!”

Ernest turned around and frowned at Jules. “What are you doing?”

“Trust me.”

Nicolas Pinel was as dutiful and obedient to his fellow secretaries as he was to Gisquet himself. Upon hearing Jules’s voice call to him he immediately dropped the papers he was carrying and skipped across the corridor towards Gisquet’s office door slipping through the gap where Jules beckoned him.

“Nicolas, thank goodness, we have a bit of a crisis.”

Nicolas glanced around the room, taking in the sight of Ernest, naked, cock hard and bent over Gisquet’s desk.

“What’s going on?” He asked in a voice that was piercingly innocent.

“What does it look like?” Ernest said, clicking his tongue. “You’re not that naive, don’t be silly.” He smirked a little and spread his thighs a little wider.

“We need some oil,” Jules cut in before Ernest could say something crude. “For obvious reasons. Would you fetch some from our room?”

Nicolas’s smooth brow furrowed and he looked curiously between Jules and Ernest. “Does Monsieur Gisquet know you’re here?”

“Yes, of course,” Ernest said quickly.

Jules nodded in agreement. “He requested that we do it here actually.”

“Really?”

“Well, Ernest said so.”

Ernest shot a glance at Jules as he dug his heels further into the floor. “If you’re going to accuse me of lying then out with it!”

“Oh stop it,” Jules said, turning back to Nicolas. “Some oil. Please.”

Nicolas hesitated then nodded, darting from the room like a startled rabbit. He returned a few minutes later holding a bottle of rose scented oil, the delicate pink glass reflecting in pretty diamond patterns across the curtains. “Will this do?”

“Perfect,” Jules said, just as Ernest cried out; “Finally!”

Jules uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount over Ernest’s arse allowing it to slide towards his entrance, and then he coated his fingers in a little more. He pressed the tip of his index finger to Ernest’s slicked arse.

“Ready?”

“Have been for the past hour.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

Jules thrust his finger in, crooking it slightly and massaging the oil as deep as he could before adding a second finger. Ernest was no longer the tight and blushing virgin he had been when he first arrived at the Prefecture, and even then Jules suspected he was not inexperienced when Gisquet had first breached him. Nevertheless, Jules took care to prepare his friend, pressing his fingers as deep and wide as he could, spreading Ernest to prepare him.

Jules withdrew his fingers and lined himself up with Ernest’s waiting arse. The boy was trembling in desperation, his knuckles white as his fingers splayed on the desk. Jules thrust forward, entering Ernest with his whole length, spending a moment to steady himself before beginning a steady rhythm of thrusts.

Barely moments had gone by before Ernest’s arms had given out and he was now lying with his chest pressed against the desk, collapsed upon Gisquet’s blotting paper. He moaned loudly, his lips pressed to wood as Jules thrust deep inside him with the same care he used when carrying out his secretarial duties.

“Harder,” Ernest managed to cry out, and Jules obliged him. His fingers dug into the sides of Ernest’s thighs as they gripped for purchase, every thrust shifting Ernest harder into the desk. Ernest’s eyes were squeezed tight shut in a blissful agony, his lips were parted as moans and whimpers continually escaped him, and his palms were slipping across the desk with each thrust, trying and failing to grab hold.

A timid clearing of the throat failed to rouse either of them from their tasks, so meek was the cough that both of them barely noticed. It was only when Nicolas took a shy step forward into Jules’s vision that Jules finally looked up to acknowledge him.

“May I go now?”

“For goodness’ sake,” Ernest cried out, his voice muffled as it was pressed into the desk.

Jules rolled his eyes. “Yes of course Nicolas.”

Nicolas nodded, bowed, and then escaped the room on winged feet, not looking back at the scene once.

“You’re supposed to be teaching him,” Jules said. “You’re not doing a very good job.”

“I’m doing an excellent job,” Ernest said in reproach. “Look how obedient he was.”

“You’re both such delicate flowers I’m surprised either of you finds time to take a break from being fragile and take the other.”

“I’m not delicate!” Ernest protested through gritted teeth. “I can be very forceful indeed.”

Jules chose this moment to thrust particularly hard into Ernest, shoving him forward into the desk with a sudden strength. Ernest let out a yelp and found himself overcome by the sudden show of control. His thighs grew warm with a tingling sensation and then he was spilling into climax, coming down his legs and across the gilt edges of Gisquet’s desk.

Jules supported Ernest’s limp body until he had spent himself. Then he pulled out and held Ernest as he guided him to rest on the canapé.

“Satisfied?”

“Oh, most definitely.” Ernest smiled up at Jules and reached to cup his face, stroking across his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I am most grateful, I’ve wanted to do that ever since we got here.”

“I wonder why Gisquet only gave you permission now.”

Ernest was rummaging in his pile of clothes for a clean handkerchief to clean himself off. He laughed at Jules’s words. “He hasn’t, that was a lie, but don’t be too angry Jules it was a sweet lie.”

“What?”

Jules’s stomach had dropped several feet and he was now glancing at the door nervously as if Gisquet might suddenly burst through and fire both of them on the spot.

“He won’t mind, I’m sure, and it’s not as if we’re going to mention it.”

“I can’t believe I allowed myself to be part of your conspiracy.”

Ernest pulled on his clothes and rose to look at himself in the mirror, he examined his appearance and fixed his cravat into an exuberant bow. Once satisfied he turned back to face Jules and smiled.

“Well, when you’re feeling ready I’ll make up for the deception.”

He licked his lips pointedly, winked, and then fled from the room.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

 _The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,_  
_And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”_

* * *

 

  
Whenever Henri Gisquet worked late nights at the Prefecture he requested the company of one of his three secretaries. In the long dark hours it was always useful to have someone to run around lighting candles, bring him refreshments, run papers to their correct trays, and late into the evening Gisquet would take the opportunity to have them service him. Sometimes on their knees, sometimes atop the soft sheets of the specially built private rooms in the cabinet. It made hard work satisfying and bearable.

On this particular cold evening, Gisquet had asked Nicolas Pinel to remain behind and help him through the long hours. Gisquet stretched back in his chair regarding a report in his hand, flicking his gaze every now and then to the boy who was currently stoking the fire. He worked carefully, his face set in concentration as he laid on the coals and gripped tightly to the ornate bronze poker. Nicolas came from a wealthy family from Toulouse, the youngest of several successful brothers, and Nicolas was constantly aware of their shadow. One was a lawyer, another a banker, his eldest had joined the clergy, and his parents expected great things of their youngest.

It soon became apparent that Nicolas was not destined to give them a legacy of great things, he had good intentions and he studied hard, but numbers made little sense to him and he was far too shy to hold himself in court or in a business deal. Nicolas was kind and sweet and intensely well-meaning, he had soft dark curls that framed an inordinately pretty face with large doe eyes and long lashes, pink lips that nearly always shone as he licked them so often from nervousness. He was tiny in comparison to his older brothers, not just short, but also slender and delicate, qualities that were prized in Parisian art studios and sculpture galleries, but not in the Pinel household. Nicolas attempted to excel in his lessons and his father paid through the nose for private tutors, but it soon became obvious that Nicolas was not made for the world of academia.

At their wit’s end his parents paid for him to go through secretarial college where he learned how to neaten his letters and follow orders. Nicolas found it easy to slip into a routine where there were specific times and places for everything, in fact he found it comforting. After finishing his course he had applied for the position at the Prefecture where he had met Monsieur Gisquet, a man who knew how to use Nicolas’s skills for the best. He looked at Nicolas Pinel and knew there was talent beneath the anxious porcelain exterior, and carefully he coaxed it out.

For the past few minutes Nicolas had been poking the same piece of coal, his thoughts occupied and his mind clouded with the image of Ernest flushed and spread over Gisquet’s desk and Jules thrusting into him. He had been thinking about the scene all afternoon, and even now his glance was drawn to the gilt desk where the sin had been committed and his own cheeks began to blush. After bringing the oil and being dismissed he had run down the corridor and then stood with his back to a wall, leaning his weight against it and breathing heavily. He squinted his eyes tight shut and tried not to think about it, but there was little else his mind would let him imagine, and so quite unable to stop himself he had grown hard and as he glanced down he saw with woe that it was obvious.

It was just at this moment that Monsieur Chabouillet had stuck his head out his door and called for a secretary, his eyes instantly landing on Nicolas he breathed a sigh of relief and beckoned him in. Nicolas let out a yelp of fear, pressed both hands to the front of his trousers to cover what he could, and then darted off down the corridor.

“Monsieur Pinel!” Chabouillet called after him. “I said I needed you, into my office and be quick about it.”

Nicolas skidded to a halt and glanced over his shoulder. Chabouillet’s blue eyes pierced right through him and Nicolas feared he would be able to know how his body had betrayed him with that one simple stare. Nicolas opened his mouth to say something then found he had no idea what to say.

“Now!” Chabouillet said again, slipping back into his office so that Nicolas couldn’t protest if he wanted to. Nicolas ran to the door and opened it carefully, sticking just his head round the frame. Chabouillet looked up and caught his gaze, rolling his eyes. “I need you inside the room not outside. Come on now, I don’t have all day.”

Nicolas squeaked something nonsensical and slipped round the frame, his hands still covering his trousers though now the act was futile as Chabouillet would notice within moments. Sure enough, Chabouillet’s eyes slid from Nicolas’s face to his crotch and he rolled his eyes again.

“I understand Monsieur Pinel, I truly do, but these are urges you must learn to control if you wish to continue your work here.”

“I’m sorry, Monsieur.”

Chabouillet sighed. “There is a time and place. Monsieur Gisquet may be quite content with you all running off to your corners at all hours of the day, but some of us have work to do and we need our secretaries to be available.”

Nicolas was shifting from foot to foot, his cheeks had flushed a bright red that was obvious against his normally pale skin, and he was furiously biting at his bottom lip. Chabouillet watched his discomfort for a few moments then rubbed his temples and let out a long breath.

“I need these reports stamped and signed before the end of the working day,” He said pointedly. Nicolas, despite all his time at the Prefecture, still managed to maintain his innocence, and he simply stared back at Chabouillet nonplussed. Chabouillet tried not to let his frustration show. “If you don’t mind Monsieur Pinel.”

“Monsieur? I’m not sure I understand.”

“I need you to make it go away.”

Nicolas’s eyes went wide. “Monsieur, I’m not sure how.”

“You’re not sure how? What on earth has Monsieur Nay been doing with you all day? He drags you off into the cabinet at all inconvenient hours, surely you must have been doing something constructive and educational.”

Nicolas’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and his eyebrows raised high upon his forehead. Quickly he nodded as he grew to understand and his hands began to unfasten his trousers. Before he had them pulled off he stopped and looked up.

“Should I do it now?”

“Yes!” Chabouillet cried out, his frustration no longer carefully hidden. “Yes yes, do it now, do it here.”

Nicolas nodded again and pulled down his trousers, releasing his hard cock with a sigh of relief. He curled his fingers round his length in the way Ernest did to him and he stroked slowly.

“A little faster if you please.”

Nicolas thrust into his palm with a quicker pace and closed his eyes, instantly seeing the image of Ernest splayed on the desk. His mouth parted and he let out a small moan, now imagining himself in Ernest’s place with Jules behind him thrusting into him without mercy. Ernest was still there in this fantasy, standing before him, clutching his hand and encouraging him, patting his cheek gently. When Nicolas came into his hand his imaginary Jules began to stroke his back with tender motions and his fantasy Ernest cleaned him.

Nicolas opened his eyes to see that Chabouillet was no longer watching him, but had returned to his paperwork, his quill flicking smoothly across an important report. He sensed Nicolas’s stillness and reached into an inside pocket, wordlessly holding out the handkerchief for Nicolas to take. Nicolas hurried to grasp it and wiped himself off, then he tried to hand it back. Chabouillet shook his head and waved it away.

“Please keep it,” He said with disinterest.

“Really Monsieur?”

Nicolas looked down at the handkerchief which appeared expensive with delicate lace edging and Chabouillet’s initials, AJC, embroidered in the corner. Chabouillet sighed and glanced up for a moment. “Well, I don’t particularly want it back now.”

“Oh, of course.” Nicolas stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket and put his hands together before him, inclining his head slightly. “What do you require of me Monsieur?”

Chabouillet folded the page he was working on and slipped it into an envelope. He signed the back and stamped it before handing it across the desk to Nicolas. “I need a second stamp on this before it can be sent to our good friend Monsieur Périer, and it has to leave the building before the end of the day, so if Monsieur Gisquet is busy I need you to pester him until he signs it, I don’t have time to bully him into doing it myself.”

Nicolas took the envelope and nodded, turning on his heel with the intention to bolt out the door. He was stopped as Chabouillet cleared his throat pointedly.

“And Monsieur Pinel? I am able to forgive your little indiscretion, but there are others in this Prefecture, indeed in the world, that would not be able to overlook suck an incident so easily.” He stared at Nicolas and the poor boy felt the harsh eyes bore right through him. “Be careful.”

“Yes Monsieur.” Nicolas bowed and fled the room.

It was this scene that Nicolas was replaying over and over in his head as he repeatedly stoked the same piece of coal over and over, pushing it round the fireplace until Gisquet found reason to cough and rouse his secretary from his thoughts.

“You seem troubled.”

Nicolas licked his lips and concentrated very hard so that his cheeks would not flush bright red. The heat that spread across his face and neck told him that he had likely failed. Gisquet regarded him suspiciously, then sighed.

“Come here little one, sit on my lap and tell me all about it.”

Nicolas could not ignore such a command, and in truth he often found comfort in being drawn onto the Prefect’s knee. Yet now he was sure that if Gisquet gently positioned him on his lap and began to stroke his hair and fondle his delicate body Nicolas would break quickly. However, Gisquet’s arms were outstretched and his smile welcoming, so Nicolas trotted dutifully across the room on his light soles and sat down in his lap.

Sure enough Gisquet enfolded him close into his arms and slid a hand up his back to stroke through his hair, fingers spreading in a tender carding motion. Nicolas let out a breath and shuddered slightly.

“I am so terribly sorry Monsieur.”

“Nonsense dear boy, if something is on your mind you must speak it so that I may relieve you of your troubles. It will not do for one of my secretaries to be filled with such anguish.” Gisquet tapped his fingers on Nicolas’s chin, tilting his face up to him. With great benevolence he leaned in and placed a kiss on Nicolas’s forehead. Nicolas thought he might cry at this kindness.

“What is the matter? Is it work? Has Monsieur Nay been offloading his duties onto you? Has Monsieur Devaux been neglecting you?”

“No, Monsieur, never! They have both been perfect saints!” Nicolas shut his mouth at this outburst and bit his tongue to stop himself speaking further. He knew he had to tell Gisquet of what he’d seen, but he could not betray his friends in this way. The conundrum had spun his pretty head in circles.

“Saints?” Gisquet laughed. “They look like blessed Renaissance paintings the pair of them, I will give you that, but saintly in their morals? Why, I would not have picked them for our little cabinet if they were.”

Gisquet smiled and tapped Nicolas on the nose before cupping his cheek in his palm and stroking his thumb across that perfect porcelain skin. He leaned in to kiss his secretary again, this time on Nicolas’s worried lips, and Nicolas instantly felt overcome. He heard a high-pitched whine escape his throat as Gisquet pressed their lips together, altogether soft and careful, until he caught Nicolas’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulled down. Nicolas found his neck tilting backwards, his back arching, and Gisquet’s palm was ready to press into the small of his back where it curved in an attractive line.

When Gisquet finally pulled away Nicolas found himself breathing heavily, overwhelmed at the tender touch from his beloved Prefect, his eyes were sparkling bright beneath heavy lids.

“Now,” Gisquet spoke in such a soft whisper Nicolas would not have thought he’d spoken at all if he hadn’t felt a warm scatter of breath across his neck. “Tell me what is troubling you.”

“It is...you see...Monsieur, I cannot-”

Gisquet stopped Nicolas’s nervous flood of words with an index finger across his lips. Gisquet’s smile was remarkably reassuring and Nicolas attempted a small smile back, but found his anxiety filled him up almost entirely. Gisquet’s hand had moved from his lips and was running down his chest towards his thighs. Nicolas shifted on Gisquet’s lap just as Gisquet’s palm pressed into his crotch, easily coaxing hardness. Nicolas felt his body shiver with anticipation and bit his lip to prevent his improprietous whimper.

“Lay your head on my shoulder, that’s it,” Gisquet said, carefully maneuvering Nicolas into a comfortable position. As Nicolas arched his neck back into the crook of Gisquet’s shoulder, Gisquet himself had been busy unfastening Nicolas’s trousers and releasing a steadily hardening cock. He stroked it with a practiced ease as Nicolas squirmed in his lap.

“Come now Nicolas,” Gisquet murmured softly in his ear. “Relax, I do not like to see you so worked up.”

Nicolas swallowed and found that his hand was suddenly gripping the armrest of the chair with a surprisingly strong hold. He felt thusly overcome with emotion every time the Prefect showed him any attention, but when Gisquet desired to place his hand upon him he was truly undone. Gisquet’s palm seemed to spark across his skin with such a great intensity that Nicolas could not stop the moans escaping. This only served to encourage Gisquet, who held Nicolas tighter in his grip.

Nicolas’s senses were heightened at the slightest touch, and Gisquet’s touch was immensely special to the boy. Within minutes he was close to finishing, coming with a sharp gasp all over Gisquet’s hand and the front of his trousers.

“There now, you must be feeling better.”

Nicolas nodded. His mind felt clouded, his senses sparked then dulled into a stupor, and his knuckles ached from gripping the wood of the chair.

Gisquet was quick to extract his own handkerchief and wipe Nicolas clean then turned to his own hand. Nicolas made to slip off Gisquet’s lap, but Gisquet put his arm around him and held him firmly in place.

“You’re not running away until you tell me what was troubling you. I trust I have eased the strain somewhat?”

“Oh, yes Monsieur, most definitely.” Nicolas was still practically gasping for air, his fingers wriggling at his sides. “Truly all thoughts of the matter have flown and I no longer feel such despair as I did.”

“I am glad to hear it, but still you must tell me.”

“It is of no consequence I assure you.” Nicolas’s voice was no more than a squeak as Gisquet pressed his arm tighter into his stomach, keeping him well and truly trapped. “Monsieur please I must return to my duties.”

“Nicolas, sweet boy, I care for you deeply. Do not deny me my request. What was troubling you?”

Nicolas, trapped literally and figuratively by Gisquet’s arm physically squirmed in discomfort. There would be no hiding from it now.

“It was Ernest and Jules,” He blurted out quickly, the sentence sounding like one single word.

Gisquet laughed and loosened his grip. “I thought perhaps it might be. Well then, what mischief have they been up to?”

Nicolas felt like the caught fish flopping on the wet deck of the boat, desperately gasping for air and seeking the sensory deprivation of the sea.

“They were...well, I do not think it polite to repeat.”

“Is that so?” Gisquet looked more amused than anything else. “I see. Then I must remind you that all three of you are welcome to enjoy yourselves outside of this office, in fact I encourage it. Is that why you were upset? Because they did not invite you to join?”

“No Monsieur. I know very well that you do not mind, and outside this office we often engage with each other in all manner of activities.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Indeed Monsieur, I would not be able to perform so well without the guidance of Ernest who is truly an excellent teacher, and Jules is so kind and gentle with me I sometimes wish we could be together more often.”

Gisquet patted Nicolas on the cheek with an approving smile. “Then I will set more time aside for the three of you to play in the cabinet, it is for educational purposes as you say after all, and yet you still have me confused.”

“Monsieur, it is not what we do outside this office that worried me, it was what they did inside it.”

Gisquet raised an eyebrow as he searched Nicolas’s face. The effects of his hand seemed to be wearing off and leaving behind nervousness in its place. Once more Nicolas appeared to be the deer caught in the headlights.

“Do go on,” Gisquet said softly.

“Monsieur it was an accident really, I never would have involved myself in such disobedience if I’d known. I was merely crossing the corridor that led to your office on my way back from depositing the morning’s reports when Jules beckoned me, he was calling me from inside your office and so I went to see what he needed. My first thought was that you were inside with him, but then when I opened the door I saw such a sight Monsieur I can barely rid it from my mind. Ernest…he was…he was indecent Monsieur, his clothes were long since discarded and he was bent over your desk in a most unseemly manner.” Nicolas stopped and took a deep breath of air.

“Carry on!” Gisquet said suddenly, then coughed and shifted in his seat, rearranging Nicolas on top of him. “Please Nicolas, do continue, what did you see? Describe it in detail.”

“Monsieur, Ernest looked truly passionate, and I could see all of him so clearly. His legs were spread so wide each of his ankles touched a leg of your desk, and then Jules asked me to fetch him some oil.”

“In this very office?” Gisquet questioned, sounding a little breathless himself.

“Upon that very desk, Monsieur. I considered it an act of disrespect I could hardly believe that Jules would engage in such behaviour.”

“And Ernest?”

“Oh I could believe it of Ernest.”

Instantly Nicolas clapped his hand to his mouth. “Monsieur, forgive me! I will go to Ernest on my knees myself I should never speak ill of my brother in this way.”

The corners of Gisquet’s mouth were twitching. He raised his hand to Nicolas’s head and began gently caressing his hair, sliding his palm down his his neck with his stroke. Pinel found himself shivering again.

“There will be no need for that,” Gisquet said, still struggling to keep amusement out his voice. “Tell me more about this act. On the desk you say? With Ernest beneath?”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“As usual then.”

“But he was telling Jules where to place his hands and seemed to me to be in control, I could barely understand it.”

“No, I don’t suppose you could. You must let Ernest teach you how to master that as well.”

Nicolas swallowed and tilted his head to one side. He was grateful that Gisquet had already wrung pleasure from him with his hand because all this talk of what he had spied earlier was making his face flush again.

“You mustn’t punish them Monsieur.”

“Oh mustn’t I?”

“Please, I am sure they could not help themselves, and they would apologise if given the chance.”

Gisquet considered for a moment. “No doubt they would. However, they have performed an indiscretion that I cannot let slide, imagine if they had been disturbed by someone other than you, the consequences could have been dire.”

“Monsieur is always right.” Nicolas felt himself leaning into Gisquet, his head resting once again on his shoulder. The Prefect’s body was warm and inviting. “Although they will not be pleased with me for telling you.”

“They should be grateful that you have given them the chance to atone for a crime they would otherwise get away with.”

“I would not call it a crime Monsieur, for love and passion cannot ever be a crime!”

Gisquet looked into Nicolas’s wide eyes, full of sincerity and much passion himself. Gisquet stroked a finger along his cheek, he truly was fond of the boy, who despite all the ways in which he had been used by the Prefect still managed to maintain a perfectly innocent exterior and an air of naivety. The boy was so pure Gisquet himself had almost been scared to touch him lest he break into a thousand pieces like fragile spun glass. Gisquet was glad he had overcome this fear.

“I will punish them for their carelessness, and also take the opportunity to remind them of the ample space they have available to demonstrate their love and passion as you call it. Our purpose built cabinet was quite expensive as you may recall from handling some of the finances yourself and I would not like to see it go to waste. Do you think that a fair compromise?”

“Yes Monsieur.”

“Very good, and you my little one must be rewarded for coming to me with this information. Please inform your peers that all three of you should report to my office tomorrow morning at the first hour of the working day.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

 

 _“O no, no,” said the little fly, “to ask me is in vain,_  
_For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”_

* * *

 

At precisely nine in the morning Gisquet entered his office to see his three intimate secretaries standing before his desk. He smiled warmly at them, handing first the pile of papers in his hand to Ernest and then turning so that Jules could remove his coat for him. Jules hastily slid the Prefect’s coat from his shoulders and placed it carefully on the rack behind the door, just as Ernest began to rifle through the papers as if to sort them.

“Leave those Ernest, there will be time enough later.”

Ernest paused, his fingers stopping in their task of sliding up the corner of a day old police report. His instincts had pricked up. Nevertheless he dutifully placed the stack atop Gisquet’s desk and then turned to face him, hands clasped in front of him, eyes downcast.

Nicolas’s face had turned white as a sheet and his hands were folded into tight fists, crescent moons littered his palms where his nails had dug in. He had spent the night before dreading this encounter.

“Now then, to business, Ernest dear boy I trust you are well?”

“Yes, Monsieur.” Ernest inclined his head, his tongue wetting his lips to prepare himself for what he assumed to be coming.

“And you Jules?” Gisquet continued. “Feeling in the best of spirits?”

Jules had less of the natural confidence that Ernest possessed. He nodded quickly and focused hard on his words so as not to stutter. “I am feeling quite well Monsieur.”

“Very good, very good.” Gisquet glanced at them both and smiled, then he turned to Nicolas with businesslike formality. “Nicolas, would you be so kind as to fetch two sets of police issue manacles for me? As quick as you can please.”

What little colour was left in Nicolas’s pallid cheeks drained instantly, but he composed himself enough to bow and dart from the room.

Jules had a slight crease in his brow, but he was not concerned as of yet. Ernest seemed completely at ease, for Gisquet’s command was not out of the ordinary to him at all. Gisquet moved towards the pair and placed a hand on each of their shoulders, turning them to face his desk.

“Lay your eyes if you will upon this fine piece of furniture before you. Each leg is carved so intricately, each foot of this desk beholds a different scene, see with your young eyes this one closest to us. Do you see Diana the huntress wielding her bow as she wraps around the wooden leg chasing a deer? Perhaps you will regard this one here, where Narcissus gazes upon the lake? And on top, a single pane of glass laid over the treated wood, a large single pane that I would not dare to think of the cost it would take to replace it. One small crack would ruin it all. The golden leaf that adorns the corners, so fragile in its detail, if one were to lay a hand on it too heavily I fear it should break off? Do you see all these things my dear boys?”

Ernest nodded swiftly, licking his lips in every pause of Gisquet’s speech. He wasn’t truly looking at the desk, it did not interest him, he had heard Gisquet ruminate before on this gift from the Prime Minister himself - Gisquet’s own patron - but he did not particularly care. Jules voiced his opinions nervously.

“It is indeed a fine work of art.”

“Do you think so Jules? I would agree.” Gisquet raised a hand to Jules’ shoulder then snaked his palm round to the back of his neck. “Because of its very nature we must be careful and never apply pressure to its surface. If I were to discover that you had done such a thing, why, I should be quite angry indeed.”

“We will remember not to, won’t we Jules?” Ernest said quickly, flashing a warning glance at his companion. Jules hummed in agreement, never had he been one for words.

The door creaked behind them and Nicolas entered, two sets of manacles clasped in his small hands, they clinked ominously in the silence.

“Ah, marvelous,” Gisquet proclaimed. “We can continue. Ernest and Jules, I would be grateful if you would divest yourselves of your clothes.”

Jules glanced at Ernest, his expression nervous and pleading, but Ernest merely shrugged and proceeded to take off his clothes. He left them in a neat pile on the canapé and Jules did the same.

“Nicolas, if you would do the honours,” Gisquet said, his warm smile returning. “Behind their backs if you please, and press the bolt in tight. Do not force me to check.”

Nicolas was practically shaking as he approached his fellow secretaries. Ernest turned his back on him without any trepidation and thrust his hands out behind him. His chin was raised and his eyes shone. Nicolas closed one set of manacles about Ernest’s small wrists, ensuring that the bolt was pressed as far as it would go. Ernest clinked the chains as he gave them an experimental pull.

Jules looked to Ernest first before turning, only complying once he saw Ernest’s reassuring nod. Nicolas gave his wrists the same treatment.

“I think we can use this punishment as a learning opportunity. I had hoped to break this news in different circumstances, but I will work with what you disobedient boys give me.” Gisquet grabbed Ernest by the arm and pulled him roughly towards the desk, pressing him up against it. He did the same to Jules, manhandling him into position. “Bend over,” He instructed clearly, waiting until they obeyed. “I have some exciting news my little ones. We are expecting a visit from the Spanish Ambassador. He is bringing with him some of his secretaries and I’m sure everyone in the cabinet is looking forward to having some fresh faces.”

Gisquet left Jules and Ernest bent over his desk as he went to his cabinet. Withdrawing the key from an inside pocket he unlocked it and perused his options. “Would you prefer a cane or a whip?” He called back to them. Ernest opened his mouth to speak, but Gisquet cut him off; “Nicolas! Why don’t you choose?”

“Me, Monsieur?”

“Of course, what a good reward for coming to me with the news that your fellow secretaries had disobeyed my orders and performed vile acts on my desk.”

Nicolas nodded timidly and quickly made his way to Gisquet’s side. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Gisquet’s cabinet with its various toys.

“Vile acts?” Ernest said indignantly. “I’ve seen even Nicolas do worse.”

“Silence!” Gisquet put his arm around Nicolas’s shoulders and pulled him in tight, protective and possessive in equal measure. “What catches your eye?”

Nicolas licked his lips nervously then reached for the closest cane, a thin and supple wood with a smooth handle. Gisquet tutted in disappointment. “Oh no no no, not even close. Be brave my little one.”

“Please Monsieur, I don’t think I can.”

“Nonsense, you know as well as I that they will enjoy it half as much as they don’t.”

Nicolas glanced back over his shoulder at Ernest and Jules. Jules’s face was set with determination, already preparing himself for the pain to come. Ernest looked unfased and as he caught Nicolas’s glance he dared to smile wickedly at him. Nicolas swallowed and turned away from Ernest’s stare for he could not look long without feeling guilt rack over him. By now it was evident that Nicolas had told Gisquet all he had seen, but Ernest didn’t seem to mind, especially as the consequence was to find himself chained and bent over his adored Prefect’s desk. More a reward than a punishment.

Nicolas turned back to the cabinet and regarded the instruments within. He reached out to touch the wood with a delicate fingertip, stroking down the length of the cabinet until he reached an ornately carved box resting innocuously at the back of the cabinet.

“What’s in here Monsieur?”

“Oh, Nicolas, is that your choice?”

“I’m not sure yet, Monsieur.”

Gisquet smiled. “Live large my boy.”

Nicolas shifted nervously, his eyes once again drawn to his companions as they rested on Gisquet’s desk. “Will it hurt them?”

“Do you really think I would ever truly harm any of you? Come now, take a risk.”

Nicolas felt Gisquet’s hand on his shoulder squeeze, his palm warm and inviting, and the way Gisquet smiled at him with those soft brown eyes made Nicolas shudder slightly. He knew he’d say yes.

Looking up at Gisquet with wide eyes he nodded, then reached for the box and took it out into the light. Each corner was secured with a metal edge, angular triangles with small carved curves inset in the silver, the wood itself was a dark mahogany and decorated with geometric patterns that deceived Nicolas’s eyes the more he stared at them. There was a small latch and Nicolas took the initiative to flip it open, glancing at the contents. His eyes went wider and Ernest raised himself off the desk to crane his neck and get a better look. Gisquet shot a fierce glance at him.

“Down!” He commanded, and once again Ernest pressed himself against the desk, his mouth now set in a disgruntled line. “Beautiful aren’t they?”

Nicolas nodded. Three glass ornaments lay within the box, resting on a rich red velvet pillow, they caught the light as Nicolas turned the box this way and that. Each piece of glass had a wide base which curved into a smooth continuous shape that ended in a soft point. Clear glass swirled with three different colours, a rose pink, a pale blue, and an emerald green, they cast coloured shadows against the edges of the box and the surrounding walls.

“They’re very pretty Monsieur.”

“What is it?” Ernest called from the desk, sounding irritated and bored in equal measure.

“You can keep your insolent mouth shut,” Gisquet said before turning back to Nicolas. “I had you three in mind when I chose them. I have always enjoyed the versatility of such instruments, for they can be pleasure or pain depending on what I choose to use them in conjunction with. For example, you my dear Nicolas shall enjoy a rather pleasurable morning, but your two companions will not.”

Nicolas had been staring at the plugs in awe, but now he turned to Gisquet with fearful wide eyes. “Monsieur please! Punish me too if you must, but it isn’t fair to make me watch.”

Gisquet cupped Nicolas’s cheek with one palm as he extended his other hand into the cabinet to reach for a cane. “Don’t be silly. They will thank you after this I am sure of it. Now, why don’t you remove your clothes like a good boy.”

Nicolas bit his lip to stop himself retorting and obeyed Gisquet’s words by carefully removing his clothes, placing his cravat, shirt, and waistcoat in a neat pile, pausing for a moment at his trousers, then divesting himself of them too.

Gisquet had selected a bottle of oil from his cabinet and was carefully slicking up each of the plugs. Once they were all shining with oil he picked up the one that swirled with rose pink and stood behind Ernest, pressing a steady palm to the small of his back and then pushing the glass up to his entrance. Ernest let out a gasp as the cool glass touched his skin and he bucked into the table to escape Gisquet’s grasp, but Gisquet held him down firmly and didn’t take his hand away until he had pushed the glass all the way up to its flared base. Once it was fully in Gisquet gave Ernest a sharp slap on his arse then reached for the second plug.

He touched Jules gently, tapping each of his inner thighs until he spread his legs wide, and then he began to push the plug inside him. The oil ensured they went in smoothly, but Jules still winced at the intrusion. They were wide enough that preparation would have made the experience more comfortable, but he was determined not to make a sound of pain. He knew he deserved this for his disobedience.

“The green matches your eyes my dear Jules,” Gisquet said casually, tapping the base of the glass to ensure it was in as far as it could go. “I could tell the moment I saw and I asked the glass blower to use that very shade. The blue matches Nicolas quite perfectly too, and of course Ernest deserves nothing else but the pink.”

Gisquet took up the final glass plug and turned to Nicolas. He smiled warmly and beckoned him into his arms, putting one arm round his waist and the other snaked between his thighs. Nicolas shivered at the cold touch, then whimpered as he felt Gisquet pressing the glass against his entrance, he didn’t have Jules’s pride and so openly whined as Gisquet pushed the full width inside him. It was more bearable once it had settled and Nicolas dropped his moans to low gasps for breath. He glanced over at Ernest who was wriggling as he attempted to find a comfortable position and Jules who was staying stoically still.

Gisquet took up the slim cane once more and positioned himself behind Jules. He touched the wood to Jules’s bare thighs, marking the place he would swing with his eye line and then pulling back his arm and letting the cane fall with a swish. Jules let out a breath of air through his nose but kept his lips resolutely pressed together. He wouldn’t make a sound, he would take his punishment like a man, for he knew he deserved it.

Ernest’s cheek was resting against the desk as he turned to face Jules, watching his wincing face and trying to gauge the strength of Gisquet’s blows so he knew what he would have to deal with. He could take a caning easily enough, on more than one occasion he’d displayed deliberate insolence in order to provoke Gisquet into using the slim wood on him. His favourite cane was a supple willow, very pale in colour, but it had a nasty bite and left thin red lines across his skin.

Gisquet swung several times in quick succession, landing the mahogany expertly across the previous strokes for maximum pain from the impact. Jules managed not to make more sound the the harsh exhales of held breath every time the cane made its mark, but a particularly sharp swing caused a high moan to escape. Instantly he shut his mouth and pressed his lips tight together, but the damage was done and Gisquet hummed in satisfaction.

“It is not so sweet to bending over my desk now, is it Jules?”

Jules breathed carefully and flexed his fingers to get some blood moving in his tightly chained wrists. His shoulders now ached as did his thighs from pressing against the sharp lines of the desk. He kept his eyes closed as he forced himself to focus on the feel of his bare skin against the wood, the metal digging into his wrists, the sound of the cane and Nicolas’s gasps every time it swung through the air. He could hear Ernest breathing gently beside him.

“I would appreciate an answer Jules,” Gisquet said, swatting at Jules’s inner thighs with the very tip of the cane.

“No Monsieur,” Jules replied, his voice strained. His activities of the day before had been entertaining enough and he always enjoyed spending time with Ernest in such ways, but he was not sure it had been worth it. Still, for the sake of his friend he bore the strikes and accepted his fate, no doubt he would bend to Ernest’s whim again in the future.

Gisquet lowered the cane and raised his hand instead, pressing his palm into the red skin of Jules’s arse and thighs. The sudden pressure stung and Jules gasped in response, but still Gisquet forced his hand close into the skin. He withdrew for a moment then began to trace his finger tips over the red lines, some thicker than expected due to the way he had landed the cane, and every sharp intake of breath from Jules drew a satisfied hum from Gisquet himself.

“No, it is not sweet at all. For you at least. For me…” Gisquet paused in his thoughts and pinched one of Jules’s thighs hard between his thumb and forefinger. It produced the desired effect. Jules winced gasped and bucked all at the same time, his fingers flexing and his wrists struggling futilely in their bonds. Gisquet took hold of the chain that bound Jules’s wrists and pulled him up off the desk until he was standing on shaking legs. Gisquet took the opportunity to grasp Jules’s arse once more then shoved him unceremoniously back towards the canapé. “Nicolas, be a dear boy and help Jules with his clothes while I deal with Ernest.”

Nicolas went to pick up the velvet lined box designed to hold the plugs, but Gisquet stopped him. “No no, I want you to leave them in.”

Ernest was now quivering on the desk, not with nervousness, but with excited anticipation. He was looking forward to being dealt with, indeed he had been imagining Gisquet’s cane landing in painful strokes across his backside in intricate detail.

“Monsieur,” He breathed softly. “Will you please accept my most humble apologies?”

Gisquet slapped Ernest hard across his pale arse provoking a squeak of surprise. Ernest was now standing on his tip toes to ensure that his arse was thrust as high in the air as possible, his back arched into a beautiful curved line, and his neck tilted to bare his throat. He knew how to play the game and he played it well. As much as he adored Gisquet, Ernest knew precisely how to provoke him and exact the desired response. There was always going to have been a risk in what he decided to do with Jules, but he was willing to take it for these moments of punishment after were just as sweet.

“Silly boy,” Gisquet said, though the smile in his voice was evident. “You deserve this three times over.”

“Monsieur!” Ernest whined, thrusting his arse higher in the air, the motion pushing the plug deeper inside him. “It was an accident.”

“Ah, of course, you tripped and fell against my desk and then poor Jules tripped and fell on top of you. A very simple mistake I am not sure why I did not see it before.”

Gisquet didn’t wait for Ernest to respond. He raised the cane and swung hard, harder than he had with Jules, and landed it firmly across the back of Ernest’s thighs. Ernest did not wish to stay silent as Jules had done, he let out a high-pitched shriek which was more for show than a result of the pain. Gisquet swung again several times in quick succession, landing the cane across Ernest’s arse cheeks on either side of the plug, thus thrusting it deeper still with each hit. Ernest felt the glass pressing inside him and angled his hips so that he could control where Gisquet’s next swing would send it. Sure enough the resulting swing caused the plug to press against a sweet spot inside him and he let out a moan in response. He was now unbearably hard, visibly so, and Gisquet was now slapping his thighs with his hand, using his palm to spread them further so that his weakness would show clearer.

“Are you enjoying yourself Ernest?”

Ernest moaned and wriggled his arse in the air, his fingers twitching in their bonds, and the more Ernest pulled at the manacles the more his cock seemed to harden between his thighs. He was enjoying himself, but he knew he would have to pretend otherwise.

“No, Monsieur, I cannot bear it.”

Gisquet laughed and swung the cane, catching Ernest on the side of one of his thighs, then the other, the sharp sting blossoming red across his skin. He turned the cane and thrust it between Ernest’s thighs, catching his cock with the tip and lightly pinned his balls against the wood of the desk. Ernest let out an acute wail, his whole body going still as he waited for Gisquet’s next move.

“Let us see what else you cannot bear.”

Gisquet pulled back the cane and reached for the manacles, yanking Ernest to his feet, holding him steady until he gained his balance. Gisquet held him by the wrists preventing his escape, but Ernest still had plenty of room to struggle, and so he wriggled as much as possible without the risk of actually breaking free, knowing that Gisquet could hold him still if he wanted. Gisquet was almost a whole foot taller than him and considerably larger than his delicate small frame, he would be overpowered by force easily, and he knew that Gisquet’s current hold on his was all for show with the expectation that Ernest wouldn’t actually protest too much.

Gisquet held the cane down by Ernest’s hard cock and tapped it, then he put it beneath and raised until Ernest’s cock was pressed painfully against his stomach. He held it there for a few moments, listening to Ernest’s whines and moans, then he let go and began to lightly hit his balls. He didn’t swing hard, but each impact on his sensitive flesh sent ripples of intense pain and pleasure through him. It wasn’t long before the sensation was almost entirely unbearable.

“Please Monsieur,” Ernest whimpered. “No more.”

Gisquet dropped the cane and reached for Ernest’s cock with his fist, taking it in a ruthless grip. Ernest melted further into his grasp and he could feel him slipping away from his sense. He teased Ernest’s cock, stroking slowly, running his thumb gently over the tip and spreading pre-come down his length. Ernest made an attempt to thrust into his loose palm, but Ernest held him tight by the wrists and took full control of the motion. Gisquet could feel Ernest quivering beneath his touch, hot in his palm, and just when he knew Ernest was about to spill over the cusp he took his hand away. Ernest gasped in surprise and rode his climax untouched, his skin flushed and tingling as it begged to be held and stroked again by Gisquet’s hand, finishing all too quickly and with deep dissatisfaction. He raised his face pitifully to Gisquet, his lips parted in despair and his eyes watery.

“Monsieur,” He whispered. “I’m so terribly sorry, it will never happen again.”

Gisquet cradled Ernest’s body, limp and boneless in his arms, and raised a hand to gently stroke his hair. He clicked his tongue in admonishment and ran a thumb down his cheek.

“I forgive you my little one, but remember that rules are not meant to be broken.”

“I’m sorry,” Ernest whimpered again, and Gisquet pressed a finger to his lips.

“Now now, don’t let it consume you, these things happen.” He helped Ernest towards the canapé where a clothed Jules was attempting to find a way to sit that wasn’t uncomfortable.

Gisquet smiled kindly at them all and gave Ernest a last fond touch of the cheek, then he went to take up the small box. “Now then, Jules and Ernest, my naughty boys, you may return yours at the end of the day. Nicolas, you are free to do as you like. I’m sure you can all manage by yourselves, clean yourselves up and get back to your duties as soon as possible, I myself must attend my morning meeting with Monsieur Chabouillet.”

Jules looked thoroughly chastised, Nicolas even more anxious than he had done before, Ernest had recovered slightly and was now glaring furiously at Nicolas. Gisquet smiled at them all then swept out the room.

“Ernest!” Nicolas cried, darting forward to help Ernest out of the tight manacles. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what he would do.”

Ernest started to rub his wrists, but Nicolas grasped them and drew them out in front of him. He stared earnestly into his friend’s face with his wide eyes and raised eyebrows, his mouth parted. “Please Ernest, I’m so sorry!”

“Oh do shut up,” Ernest said irritatedly, pulling his wrists away. Nicolas was stumped for a moment, but he wasn’t deterred, he reached for Ernest’s hands again.

“If there’s any way to make it up to you then you must ask. I didn’t mean to tell. He got it out of me, he—!”

“I said shut up!” Ernest yanked his hands away and reached to grab Nicolas by the back of his neck, pulling him in close and smashing their lips together. Ernest kissed Nicolas furiously, biting at his lips and pushing his tongue deep into his mouth, taking back full control of the situation. Finally Ernest drew back, his hands still hanging onto Nicolas’s neck. “Thank you,” He said. “Nicolas, you stupid boy, you don’t even know what you’ve done for me.”

Nicolas frowned in confusion. He didn’t have the ability to be indignant when he didn’t know all the facts. Ernest was leaning in to kiss his forehead, a gentle gesture, before he collapsed next to Jules on the canapé. Instantly he winced in pain, forgetting for a moment the plug inside him, but as the force of sitting down jerked it deep inside him again he let out a sharp moan.

“I’ll get nothing done today,” He said, adjusting his position. “This is far too distracting.”

“You sort of get used to it,” Jules said diplomatically. He was sitting with his body tilted to one side, a position that surely couldn’t have been comfortable or easily maintained for too long. Ernest turned and reached to grab Jules by the recently tied cravat and pulled him in until their foreheads were touching.

“Maybe I don’t want to get used to it,” He said before kissing Jules on the lips.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;_  
_Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly._

* * *

 

“Damn it all! It’s hopeless!”

“Henri, please.” Chabouillet could not help the hand that snaked up to rest on his hip, his fingers tapping impatiently, knowing he looked every inch the exasperated man Gisquet had made him. “It is only a cravat.”

“It is not a cravat at all! There is no cravat! It has ceased to exist!”

Chabouillet let out a deep sigh and pressed two fingers against his temple. He rubbed them in a soothing circle as he took several slow breaths before turning to face Gisquet once again.

“Borrow one of mine,” He spoke finally.

“That is hardly a solution.”

Chabouillet rolled his eyes and rested a hand on his Prefect’s shoulder. His fingers dug in slightly, a touch that Gisquet was not permitted to escape from so easily. Gisquet swallowed visibly and Chabouillet smiled at him in an expression he hoped would be comforting in this crisis.

“Do you not think you are behaving a little ridiculously?”

Gisquet frowned and his lips formed an unattractive pout which Chabouillet pretended not to notice. “How so?”

“We have had visitors before, some of infinitely greater importance than the Spanish ambassador and his secretaries, why are you so nervous?”

Gisquet bit his lip and turned to face himself in the grand mirror above the fireplace, decorated with gilt swirls and golden angels, it was an expensive piece that like most of his possessions had been a gift from his patron. His hand ran up to his visibly naked throat and he stroked his fingers down the exposed skin. He swallowed again.

“This visit is important to him.”

“Why?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“Which is code for ‘he hasn’t told me’.”

The pout returned to Gisquet’s face and he turned away from the mirror to stare at Chabouillet with a pointed expression. Chabouillet shrugged and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, he was not about to press Gisquet’s pressure point, not when the Prefect was already in such a state over losing his best cravat reserved for state visits.

“Wait here,” Chabouillet said, pressing Gisquet’s arm in a hopefully reassuring gesture and leaving his office. He returned a short while later with a length of black silk in his hand. “Will this do?”

Gisquet stared at the cravat in Chabouillet’s hand. It was a very fine silk, beautifully draped and no doubt expensive. Gisquet sighed deliberately and Chabouillet was reminded that his Prefect often seemed to behave like a needy child. “I suppose so.”

“Good, now turn and face the mirror.”

Gisquet did as he was told and waited for Chabouillet to come and stand behind him. They met each other’s gaze in the reflection, Chabouillet’s eyes bright and cold, Gisquet’s dark and nervous. Chabouillet took an end of the cravat in each hand and raised the material over Gisquet’s head, pressing it into his neck and drawing the ends over his shoulders. He held it there for a moment, tugging gently so that the black silk pressed into Gisquet’s throat, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Then he passed the ends back round, reaching his hands over Gisquet’s shoulders, and tying a neat bow.

He felt Gisquet shudder before him as he pressed in close to his back so he could tie the knot properly. Gisquet breathed a shaky sigh, watching Chabouillet’s elegant fingers work with such patience and grace.

“Face me,” Chabouillet said. Gisquet turned with a shuffle of his feet, lip caught between his teeth. Chabouillet held him at arm’s length and ran his eyes over his body, inspecting him thoroughly. Finally he nodded in approval and dropped his arms.

“How do I look?” Gisquet asked nervously, tugging at the end of the bow.

“Fine.”

Gisquet, who had seemed to calm down a little, now began to show panic in his face once more. “Just fine? I need to look more than fine, I need to impress!”

“A good first impression is more about your character than your choice of clothes.”

“Well, he barely speaks French at all, so he will have to go on my appearance.”

Chabouillet sighed and adjusted his own cravat in the mirror. “However his translator does speak French, and I’m sure your wit will not be lost between the languages. Have faith, Henri. It might prove to be an enriching experience.”

“You have just as much reason to be nervous as I am. Monsieur Périer has his eyes on you too.”

“Do not--!” Chabouillet caught his tongue before he let his outburst get away with him. He lowered his voice. “Do not say that name in this building.”

“You are the only man in France who does not admire him it seems, and truly André, he is a lovely man. If you would only give him a chance this silly feud could end.”

“A lovely man indeed!” Chabouillet scoffed. “And it is far from a silly feud, it is a most dangerous rivalry.”

“You are being dramatic.”

“Regardless, his name causes me to feel a disturbance within myself. It is as if a ghoulish creature has been summoned and I do not wish for the apparition to manifest physically.”

“You hold a grudge because you are superstitious, I see.” Gisquet raised his chin and turned back to the mirror, he began to smooth down the lapels of his coat and fiddle with the cravat Chabouillet had tied perfectly.

“Not because of superstition do not be so naive. I hold a grudge because he is a liar and a cheat at best, and a murderer at worst. He is corrupt and evil, I have told you many times, and it is not even I who bares the scars to prove it.” Chabouillet risked a glance at Gisquet’s arms, covered by the expensive black wool of his frock coat, the truth that bare skin could tell hidden beneath layers of material.

“Do not presume to know,” Gisquet said quietly. “Besides, you may disagree with his policies but that hardly makes him a murderer.”

“He has indeed been clever to keep the blood off his own hands, yes.”

“It would not hold up in court,” Gisquet said with a small and wavering smile. His hands still trembled.

“Ah, the master of the trial, Henri Joseph Gisquet, he could not hold himself up in court very well either.”

Gisquet’s expression withered and Chabouillet’s smile snapped from his face as he noticed a genuine anguish in the Prefect’s face. It would not do to dwell on past mistakes. He was considering whether to apologise when a soft knock came at the door to save him.

“Come in,” He called, watching as the door swung open and Jules-Ernest Nay slid through the gap.

“Monsieur Chabouillet,” Ernest murmured in a voice far too low and breathless for a formal greeting. He bowed then turned to Gisquet. “Monsieur Gisquet, you have a visitor.”

“They’re here already?” Gisquet ran a hand through his hair, ruining the carefully arranged curls and leaving a frenzied mess in its wake. “They are not due for another hour!”

“No, not them.” Ernest smirked to himself. “It is Monsieur Périer.”

Chabouillet groaned openly. “God give me strength. You see? Say his name and he appears like a spectre. An ugly spectre.”

“The Prime Minister is hardly an ugly man,” Ernest said diplomatically, his head tilted to one side and his gaze pointed off into the distance as if lost in thought conjuring up the handsome visage of Casimir Pierre Périer. “In fact, I believe he is quite--”

“Yes yes yes Monsieur Nay,” Chabouillet interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Thank you for your input. Did you leave him waiting in the entrance hall?”

“No Monsieur, he is right outside the door.”

“Damn!”

Gisquet raised an eyebrow at Chabouillet, maintaining a newly found confidence that was certainly for his secretary’s benefit. Chabouillet closed his eyes to gather up some similar courage.

“Then there appears to be no escape, I shall have to look at him. I will leave with Monsieur Nay in order to spend as little time as possible in his grace’s presence.”

Gisquet had turned back to the mirror and was furiously trying to flatten his hair, unruly curls framing his face in a style much more suited to a younger man.

“You will be fine alone, Henri?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

Chabouillet narrowed his eyes, but conceded. He nodded to Gisquet then turned the handle of the door and gestured for Ernest to leave first. Ernest bowed to Gisquet then swept from the room with a flounce intended to be seen by the Prime Minister waiting outside.

With his eyes fixed straight ahead Chabouillet followed, determined not to look at Casimir for a single moment. He made it two paces before a cold hand closed on his elbow, nails digging in so sharply he could feel it through the material of his coat.

“Monsieur Chabouillet, always a pleasure.”

Chabouillet raised his gaze to somewhere above Casimir’s head, refusing to look him in the eye. Those cold blue irises sickened him to the core. They were not a dissimilar colour to his own, but the differences between them were considerable. Chabouillet had the ability to be warm and fair whilst Casimir was consistently cruel with or without reason.

“Monsieur Périer,” Chabouillet said, wracking his brain for a suitable complementary insult. “Have you come to borrow some more evidence for your entertainment? Here at the Prefecture we are so glad you take an interest in police work, and we look forward to hearing your opinions on the evidence you ordered to be removed when you so kindly return it.”

Chabouillet spoke these final words through his gritted teeth that he had formed into a smile. Casimir was smiling in return, his hand still clenched around Chabouillet’s elbow.

“Why, Monsieur le Secretaire, I am not sure I know what you are talking about.”

“No? Alas, you must be one of those gentlemen sadly cursed with a sieve for a brain. My apologies, it is possible for me to send you copies of the paperwork.” Chabouillet took liberties when conversing with Casimir that stronger men would never dare to speak. Men that attempted to insult, belittle, or outmaneuver him often ended up on one way carriage trips to precincts far away from Paris, or worse; face down in the Seine.

“Ah, but I’m not sure such paperwork exists, as if such a situation had occurred the files would have been stored in your west wing.”

“How right you are, Monsieur le Premier, and that is the same wing that was beset with such misfortune. First missing files, then a brief and localised fire, finally your call for a purge of unnecessary documents. It would appear that you never borrowed any evidence and hypothetically if you did any paperwork documenting it would not exist.”

Casimir smiled and let go of Chabouillet’s arm. “I am glad you have recognised your error.”

“Indeed, and I am grateful you have pointed it out to me. However, I am sure that if it became sufficiently necessary, a man could be found who luckily copied the paperwork and safely stored the originals before they could be destroyed in that most unfortunate fire.”

“Such a man should take care that he is not the next to burn.” Casimir’s eyes flashed dangerously. Chabouillet smiled as if completely unaffected. He bowed low and with great respect, sweeping his coat behind him.

“You have business with the Prefect, do not let me keep you. It has been delightful Monsieur le Premier.”

Casimir nodded curtly. “Take care Monsieur Chabouillet.”

The imprint of Casimir’s fingers burned a hole through his coat straight to his skin and it bristled with intense discomfort. Chabouillet watched Casimir disappear into Gisquet’s office and softly close the door. He wished Gisquet had the sense to stand up to the man, not that Gisquet was a coward per se, but he lacked a spine during daylight hours.

Chabouillet sighed and walked to catch up with Ernest who was half way down the corridor towards the set of rooms where Gisquet’s secretaries worked.

“Monsieur Nay,” Chabouillet called after him and Ernest practically skidded to a halt and spun to face him. The boy’s face was upturned and baring a most saccharine smile, his eyes unnaturally bright and eager. Chabouillet disliked the way Ernest looked at him, as if he were a faultless God who could bestow all manner of delights upon him. He wondered if one day he should enter the Prefecture with a paper bag of sweets from a nearby shop and distribute them among the secretaries like a visiting uncle. Such an action would not seem out of place.

“Monsieur le Secretaire, how may I be of service?”

Ernest bowed with one foot placed daintily in front of the other, his hand delicately flicked out to the side. Chabouillet rolled his eyes.

“I wish to inspect the three of you before the ambassador and his entourage arrive.”

“Of course Monsieur,” Ernest said with a small smirk. No doubt he was expecting a specific type of inspection. With an absurd flourish he gestured for Chabouillet to enter the secretary’s study. The room was spacious with three sets of desks and chairs, tall windows with draping red velvet curtains and golden ties, several comfortable chairs for relaxing and a canapé in rich embroidered green. Jules-Nabon Devaux was sitting on this canapé, the green a perfect match for his eyes which Chabouillet was sure Gisquet had chosen on purpose. In fact, Jules’s wardrobe consisted of so many green items of clothing in that very specific shade that Chabouillet was close to calling a halt to Gisquet’s efforts in that department. His knees were neatly pressed together, his hands in his lap, and his face pointed ahead, completely still. Behind him, Nicolas Pinel was running his hands through his hair, drawing the auburn curls into a sweeping ponytail and securing it with an emerald ribbon.

As Chabouillet entered Jules rose immediately, causing Nicolas’s hands to catch in his hair as he pulled away. He let out a small cry as Nicolas let out a small gasp and Chabouillet let out a small groan.

“Good grief,” He muttered. As Jules attempted to reconcile his error Chabouillet had moved to the window and was pulling the curtains apart to reveal the sunlight. “Why do you keep these closed? It’s far too dark to get any work done.”

“This is a ground floor office Monsieur,” Ernest said casually. He was inspecting his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the backs to check the softness and checking his nails. Chabouillet had caught him on more than one occasion filing them into uniform curves.

“What does that matter?”

“It looks out onto the street.” Ernest shrugged as he continued to stare at his hands, then he looked up and caught Chabouillet’s frown. He had the nerve to giggle. “This office is in full view of passers by on the street, and sometimes the good people of Paris are not ready to see the kind of intense police work that goes on in the Prefecture.”

“Ernest!” Nicolas cried out. His hands were now tangled back in Jules’s hair and they were redoing the work that had been undone on Chabouillet’s entry. “Do not be so lewd in Monsieur le Secretaire’s presence.”

Ernest stuck his tongue out at him and Nicolas gasped, his cheeks flushing pink, his expression the very picture of indignation. Ernest laughed and moved to his desk, raising the cover and reaching in for a book. Chabouillet watched in surprise as Ernest took a seat on one of the velvet chairs and opened the book to a precise page that was saved with a fabric bookmark. Obviously the secretary could read and write, better than most men his age, but he was surprised to see the boy reading for pleasure. Of course, he could not be certain that the book was question was not some scandalous novel that Ernest had picked up in a corner of the market for a sous or less.

“I assure you I am seasoned enough to cope with frank discussions of intense police work,” Chabouillet said. “There is no need to be outraged on my behalf Monsieur Pinel.

“My apologies Monsieur le Secretaire,” Nicolas replied in a quiet voice, his head bowed. Chabouillet watched him for a moment then shook his head.

“Naivety is an endearing trait in moderation.” He paused and turned his head to glance out the window to the street beyond. Carriages bustled past, citizens of Paris barely stopped to greet each other, but on the other side of the street beside a lamp post stood a young couple who had become static amid all the movement. A youth in workman’s clothes was leaning against the post, his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face while a young woman in an apron and cap laughed, her smile reaching to both of her rosy cheeks. Young love was always set aflame in Paris and yet Chabouillet felt nothing as he gazed upon this man and woman sharing a moment in the morning sun.

He looked back to Nicolas whose delicate fingers were now carding through Jules’s hair with such care and devotion, as if each strand was gold that needed to be preserved. After tying the knot of the bow, each side perfectly even, Nicolas placed his hand on Jules’s shoulder and Jules brought a hand up to meet it. Their fingers interlocked and Nicolas smiled. Jules smiled too although Nicolas could not see this, then Nicolas allowed the fingers to slip away and Jules rose to his feet.

“Thank you Nicolas, I could never tame it before you arrived and now here you are working wonders with those fingers every morning,” Jules said, testing the strength of the knot with a careful hand. Nicolas beamed at the praise, his hands clasped before him.

Ernest coughed pointedly. “Your hair looked fine when I did it,” He said with a petulant pout. “And you told me you liked it then so you can’t pretend you don’t now.”

“Don’t be jealous Ernest.”

“I’m not, I just think it’s important to be in possession of all the facts before passing judgment.” He pointedly turned a page of his book with a slender finger.

“You’ve been reading too many law books.”

“I have not. I don’t care about the law at all.”

Jules raised an eyebrow and with his most diplomatic expression said; “Ernest, you work in a police station.”

“Only because Monsieur Gisquet is here, if he worked on the moon then I’d work there too. It has nothing to do with my preferences.”

Nicolas coughed nervously and stepped forward to press one of his small hands to Ernest’s shoulder, and once he was acknowledged he allowed his fingers to slip down Ernest’s arm and clasp his hand. He pressed their palms together and squeezed. “Don’t you think you’re being a little silly Ernest?” Ernest tried to pull away, but Nicolas held fast. “Would you like me to do your hair?”

Ernest was silent for a moment, he scowled at Jules and then he nodded. Nicolas beamed and pulled Ernest over to the canapé and sat him down, skipping behind it to begin his work. Ernest tried his best to ignore him and stick his nose in his book.

“Enough of this,” Chabouillet said. “I need to ensure you look presentable for our guests. Monsieur Devaux, why don’t you go first as your colleagues are occupied with important business.”

Jules nodded and stood before Chabouillet, his hands neatly folded in front of him and his chin up. Chabouillet took in his plain black coat and cravat and the flash of green that was his waistcoat. He looked suitably drab to be a Prefect’s secretary, but comely enough that the ambassador would not tire to look at him. They knew little about the ambassador other than his name and had no idea where his proclivities would lie. Seeing as Casimir had orchestrated the visit, Gisquet assumed that the ambassador would be interested in his pretty little collection of secretaries, but Chabouillet was inclined to be more careful.

“Turn,” He instructed. Jules quickly turned a full circle, allowing Chabouillet to examine him from all angles. Jules reached a hand up to adjust his cravat, stroking the silk with careful fingers as he looked nervously up at Chabouillet.

“Leave that alone, no fidgeting.”

Jules dropped his hand. “Am I passable Monsieur?”

“I suppose. You next Monsieur Nay.”

Ernest was sitting primly on the canapé, his fingers neatly tapping the pages of his book. Chabouillet squinted at the cover, it was well-bound, not the kind of thing found in a cheap shop by the market square. Ernest had removed the dust cover himself and so the book appeared nothing more than a pale blue rectangle to any outside onlooker.

“Monsieur Nay! On your feet!”

“Nicolas hasn’t finished.”

Chabouillet pressed his lips together and unfolded his cane from where it was tucked beneath his arm. He held it firmly in the middle and pressed the bronze lion’s head to Ernest’s throat and pushed his chin up. Ernest’s eyes widened and his lips parted naturally as his neck was vulnerably bared.

“You would make me ask a third time?”

Ernest swallowed and shook his head carefully. Chabouillet pressed the cane against his throat just a little further then took it away, watching as Ernest shook his loose hair out of Pinel’s fingers and quickly stood. Chabouillet reached for the book in his hands but Ernest snatched it away.

“Give it to me.”

Ernest held it away over his shoulder. “No Monsieur.”

“Don’t make me wrestle it from you, I promise you’d get hurt.”

Ernest bit his lip nervously and handed over the book, his fingers obviously protesting and wanting to draw it away again. He was grateful when Chabouillet didn’t immediately glance at the spine and instead placed it on the nearest desk.

Ernest was wearing a pale blue coat accented in white, with a brocade silver waistcoat beneath it and the ensemble contrasted well with a simple white silk cravat. It was not the demure tones Chabouillet would have chosen to display the secretaries in, but Ernest had already made several compromises and this current outfit was the most minimalistic in a line of several options.

Ernest turned without prompting and when he faced Chabouillet once more he was nervously biting his lip, waiting for approval. “Does my appearance please Monsieur le Secretaire?” He asked in the most sultry voice he could manage, his face tilted downward so he could look up through fluttering eyelashes.

“Don’t push your luck. Monsieur Pinel, present yourself if you please.”

Ernest looked disappointed. He reached to take his book back from the desk, but Chabouillet lifted his cane as a barrier to prevent him, so instead he moved back to the canapé to sit himself down without complaint. Nicolas shuffled forward with his hands at his sides, preferring to stare at the floor rather than meet Chabouillet’s stern gaze.

“Chin up. Back straight.”

Nicolas obeyed instantly though he was shaking slightly, his eyes seemed bright and watery. Chabouillet frowned.

“What’s the matter with you boy?”

“My apologies Monsieur.” Nicolas shuffled his feet a little with honest bashfulness. “I am simply a little nervous.”

“What do you have to be nervous for?”

“What if they don’t like me?”

Chabouillet let out a groan of exasperation and slammed his cane down on the tiled floor. The noise made Nicolas jump and a small squeak escaped him. “For heaven’s sake, what does it matter if they like you? Within the week they will be gone and no doubt we shall not miss them. I do not understand this obsession with approval everyone in this building seems to have, what does it matter if you are liked and approved of?”

Chabouillet thought of Gisquet’s face every time Casimir’s presence was announced in the building. The way he peaked up and looked equal parts desperate and terrified, how a tremor came into his voice and his hands shook, yet he still took great pains to practice an adoring smile in the mirror for his patron’s benefit. Chabouillet saw a similar desperation in Gisquet’s secretaries, the way Jules blushed furiously whenever a certain Inspector entered the room, the simpering expression Nicolas adopted as he gazed adoringly at the Prefect, how the insufferable Ernest practically began salivating whenever Chabouillet himself entered the room. Like a box of lost kittens the lot of them.

“I just wish to be liked.”

“A pitiful ambition, aim higher, and change your cravat to a blue one. The black does not match the grey.”

“Yes Monsieur le Secretaire.” Nicolas hurried to the cabinet and pulled out a light blue cravat, the same icy shade as his eyes. He tied it quickly without the aid of a mirror, slim fingers sliding over silk, wetting his lips with nervousness and shifting between his feet. “Monsieur Chabouillet, what if they think us all ignorant for not being able to speak Spanish?”

“I would not worry about it.”

“It’s not as if Monsieur le Secretaire speaks Spanish either,” Ernest said, one hand on his hip as he rested against the upright end of the canapé.

Chabouillet’s hands were placed over one another as they curled into a fist around the head of his cane. He raised his eyes to meet Ernest’s. “Hay tan poco que usted sabe de mí, Monsieur Nay, él es mejor si usted no presume.”

Chabouillet wished he hadn’t spoken for now Ernest was staring at him with a look that could only be described as lust.

“If there is more of that to come,” Ernest said, sounding truly impressed. “Then I for one shall be disappointed when they leave.”

“I am not here for your amusement Monsieur Nay.” He had hoped his tone was cold enough to dispel Ernest’s heavily lidded eyes, but Ernest seemed more entranced than ever. “There has been quite enough nonsense already this morning, I expect you to behave yourselves in front of the ambassador.”

“Monsieur Chabouillet?”

Chabouillet turned with an exasperated sigh to Nicolas whose fingers were wiggling in the air like an eager schoolboy.

“What is it now?”

“How exactly should we behave in front of the ambassador? That is to say, how should we conduct ourselves?”

Chabouillet stared for a moment, then blinked. “As is befitting of a Prefect’s secretary. Why, how else would you behave?”

Ernest began twirling a finger in his still loose curls, his head tilted in an almost coquettish manner. “I think what Nicolas is trying to ask is whether we should impress him with the service we reserve for Monsieur Gisquet and yourself. Should we seduce them over the course of their visit or merely carry ink stands back and forth?”

Chabouillet considered. It was a fair question indeed, and he was not entirely sure himself what Casimir expected from all of them. He was sure that the Prime Minister had not invited the Spanish diplomat purely for political reasons, there was always an ulterior motive where Casimir concerned, perhaps he wished to sample a fresh batch of youthful secretaries this time of a Spanish flavour and he had arranged some form of exchange. If this was the case, Chabouillet had not been made aware of it.

“In all truth, we are not entirely sure the reason for this visit, so be on your guard and let nothing slip until I have deduced as much. Conduct yourselves with the same discretion you do outside of these walls, and if I discover you are expected to serve them then I shall be the first to inform you, and even then I would not force any of you to do so unwillingly.”

Ernest was pinching roses into his cheeks with a thumb and forefinger, looking disinterested. If this meeting was simply for political advantage then Ernest could not be expected to pay it much attention. He was good at what he did, his service was exemplary, but outside of that world he did not particularly care.

“Are there any further questions?” Chabouillet asked, biting his tongue as he prayed there would be silence. He was met with three shaking heads and so sighed with relief. “Good. Monsieur Devaux and Monsieur Pinel, would you both make yourselves useful to the Prefect. He has just had what I’m sure was a very trying meeting with the Prime Minister and is probably in need of some stress release. Be quick about it, their arrival is scheduled for within the hour. Monsieur Nay, remain with me.”

Ernest smirked and Chabouillet saw him flex his fingers in anticipation, stretching his shoulders and pushing his hair out of his eyes. Chabouillet paid this no heed, he had no intention of requesting service from Ernest at this present time.

“I have some concerns Monsieur Nay, and I do believe it is time we spoke about them together.”

“You wish to talk, Monsieur?”

“A brief conversation will benefit you.”

Ernest licked his lips and slid from the upright side of the canapé to the soft cushions, shifting into a comfortable position. Chabouillet turned and slid the lock of the door, Ernest watching his actions carefully, then he rested his cane against the wall as he slid his coat from his shoulders and hung it on the stand. Taking his cane back up he made to stand before the canapé.

“Stand up,” He commanded. Ernest made a show of it, as he did most things, flicking his hair over his shoulders and rising slowly, taking the opportunity to run a hand down his thigh. “And there is no need to behave like a harlot, that won’t work on me.”

Ernest blinked in surprise at Chabouillet’s sudden switch in tone. He stood upright as tall as his stature would let him and let his hand drop to his side.

“This is a respectable institution, an honourable organisation whose first purpose is to protect the citizens of Paris, to provide safety and order. Do you understand that?”

“Of course Monsieur, it is a privilege to be able to work in such a place.”

“So you say. You were chosen for your various gifts, I am aware of how skilled you are in certain areas, but you must remember your other duties.”

“Monsieur!” Ernest protested indignantly. “If I have neglected a duty you must inform me so I might set it right. Have I failed to serve you with satisfaction?”

“Frankly, you are an insolent boy. You are pretty, yes, naturally skilled, and your handwriting is neater than most secretaries, but by God I cannot stand the way you talk back.”

“Monsieur, if I have offended--”

“Be quiet!”

Chabouillet pressed a hand to his temple and began massaging gently with two fingers. He had seen the way Ernest presented himself right from his very first interview at the Prefecture and he did not want him to leave, but he was almost reaching the end of his tether.

“I do not need to hear your little contributions and remarks. You were hired to serve the Prefecture and its Prefect, not to be the office gossip. You are not a common whore, you are a consort to a respectable man, and from now on I expect your conduct to reflect that.”

Ernest bit his lip. “Yes, Monsieur.”

Chabouillet now reached for the book on the desk and Ernest made to extend a hand to stop him, but he caught himself just in time and stood with his hands pressed hard to his sides.

“You like to read?” Chabouillet asked, turning the nondescript book in his hand.

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“Law books?”

“Jules was only teasing.” Ernest ran a nervous hand through his hair. His fingers were twitching and Chabouillet could see that the boy was desperate to snatch the pale blue book out of his hands. “I mostly read…novels.”

“Of course, I used to read a lot when I was your age, stories of adventure encourage a young version of myself to enter the military.”

Ernest raised his eyes and stared at Chabouillet curiously, no doubt imagining him in a striking dress uniform covered in cold braid and handsome lines of red with a sword in its decorated sheath against his thigh. Chabouillet flipped the book in his hand and opened it to the title page. His eyebrows raised. “Not a work of classic literature then,” He said with an attempt on keeping his expression neutral.

“There’s no harm in it,” Ernest muttered. “Sometimes they even give me ideas.”

“No doubt.”

Chabouillet flicked past a few pages, his eyebrows raising further as he took in a few scattered words. “This is filth Monsieur Nay.”

“Yes,” Ernest agreed, his brow furrowed in thought. “But it truly is harmless Monsieur. Just a little entertainment.”

“Where do you find such well-bound sin in Paris?”

“There is a bookshop in the Marais that I frequent, I visit on the weekend after I have deposited my earnings and paid the necessary bills, what I have over I like to spend there.”

“The Marais?” Chabouillet was more surprised at this. The Marais was a wealthy area of Paris that featured shops for the bourgeois, but was mostly rows and rows of neat houses that were home to the aristocracy.

“Yes Monsieur.”

“Well, I do not disapprove entirely, but regardless of that you should not be reading it during working hours. You are lucky I don’t confiscate this, and please Monsieur Nay, do be careful, keep this sort of thing out of sight.”

Ernest nodded, his hands demurely folded before him.

Chabouillet let out a sigh and briefly glanced up and down Ernest’s figure. He seemed a little contrite, more for being chastised than for comprehension of what he’d actually done. Something more was needed.

“You are a difficult man to punish Monsieur Nay.” Chabouillet paused and clicked his tongue in thought. “I cannot simply grant you pain, you would enjoy it too much, and yet to go to extremes of pain would not be fair under the circumstances.”

He was silent for a moment, then after coming to a decision he nodded to himself and motioned for Ernest to follow him. “Come with me,” He said in a tone that betrayed nothing.

“Where are we going Monsieur?”

“My office.”

“For punishment?”

Chabouillet watched the way Ernest’s tongue ran over his lips and his voice dropped. Perhaps the boy would never learn, but Chabouillet was determined to try. He opened the door to his office and gestured Ernest to enter first.

“Stand before my desk please and remove your trousers.”

Ernest didn’t have to be told twice to follow this command, and whilst he divested himself of his trousers Chabouillet opened a lower drawer in his desk. After finding what he was looking for he straightened up and cleared a space on his desk, ensuring the ink well was out of the way.

“Sit here. Come on, up you get.”

Ernest hesitated then turned so he could place his palms on the desk and hoist himself up onto it. He sat primly, his knees together and his legs swinging slightly. Chabouillet watched him for a moment, noting how Ernest had shrunk back a little into himself, his bottom caught between his teeth. Ernest seemed to be getting more and more nervous the more Chabouillet prolonged his punishment.

“I don’t want to have to do this.”

“Whatever punishment you see fit is what I deserve.”

Chabouillet had to admit, Ernest could be good with his words, no wonder Gisquet could barely go an hour without dragging him off to the private rooms of the Prefecture and holding his wrists against a gilt headboard. Gisquet may not forgive him so easily for this.

“Spread your legs.”

Ernest obeyed instantly, he put his palms on the desk behind him and arched his back as he spread his knees wide. Chabouillet nodded, then took the item in his hand, twisting the metal between his fingers. Ernest caught sight of the device and swallowed, his eyes going wider than his legs.

With a methodical nature Chabouillet reached forward and took Ernest’s soft cock in his grip. Ernest’s breath caught in his throat and then turned from calm shallow breaths to something much more ragged. Chabouillet gave it a few strokes until it had gained half-hardness and then slipped the gold sheath over the length. Ernest gripped the edges of the desk, his knuckles growing white. The metal was a snug fit and then a golden ring passed underneath it and round Ernest’s balls, clicking into place and locking.

“Is it done Monsieur?” Ernest gasped, pressing a palm to his thigh. Chabouillet checked the tightness to make sure it could be endured, running his fingers over the engraving; AJC.

“Yes, is it bearable?”

“Does that matter?”

Chabouillet raised an eyebrow. “Considering you will be wearing it for the rest of the week, yes, it does.”

“But, Monsieur!” Ernest’s breath caught again and he ran his hand round the metal sheath, testing the fit. “The ambassador’s visit, what if I am required to serve? And Monsieur Gisquet would he approve?”

Chabouillet almost wanted to laugh. “Stand up.” Ernest obeyed quickly and Chabouillet surveyed him, taking in the pale bare thighs offset by the metal perfectly carved with his initials. “Yes, he will most definitely approve. This model can be adjusted, although I may consider having one made specially for you if this form of punishment needs to continue.”

Ernest swallowed and ran a hand up behind his neck. This thought was clearly an arousing one, and yet the nature of the device prevented him from showing it. Chabouillet looked at Ernest’s cock, already flushing red against the delicate pink of his skin.

“Behave this week. No answering back, no insolence, let this be a reminder to you every time you consider making your opinion known to the room. If for nothing else set a good example to your fellow secretaries.”

“Yes Monsieur.”

“Good. Now, get dressed.”

Ernest hurried to pull up his trousers and fasten them. He spent a moment running his hands over the area at the front of his trousers that hid the chastity device.

“It is very discrete, Monsieur.”

“Naturally,” Chabouillet said, checking his appearance in the mirror above the fire. “Expensive too. Your value just went up considerably Monsieur Nay, you should be grateful.”

Ernest nodded and flashed Chabouillet a small smile. “I am indeed most grateful. I have never felt happier or safer than I have within these walls.”

“Safer?”

“Yes, Monsieur. I have had jobs that were not as safe as this.”

Chabouillet frowned. He had reviewed Ernest’s application himself when it had come through, even as he belittled Gisquet at the same time for requesting an intimate secretary just for himself. He’d been there at Ernest’s initial interview, and then at the following meetings where Ernest had demonstrated his various skills. He had been talented from that first occasion so surely Ernest must have learned how to perform from somewhere.

Perhaps Chabouillet should have combed his resume more closely. There had been a number of private employers following a short time on a secretarial course, and a few gaps which Ernest had explained with a flippant gesture and a few words on spending time improving his skills. He couldn’t imagine Ernest as the kind of man to work street corners, but perhaps the truth was not so far removed.

“I am glad we can provide that safety Monsieur Nay.”

Barely a second after the words had left his mouth there was a sharp rap at the door, and the knocker did not wait to be admitted, but swung the door back anyway. Casimir cast a long shadow across the floor from his place in the door frame.

“Ah, Monsieur Chabouillet, I had hoped to find you here.”

Chabouillet took a deep breath. “What can I help you with Monsieur?”

“Monsieur Gisquet seemed occupied with the others, but I wished to have a word or two with one of his secretaries and I assumed that you would be with the third.”

“A word?”

“Or two.”

Casimir stepped forward until he was unnaturally close to Ernest. He reached up a gloved hand and gripped his jaw between his fingers, a swift movement that caused Ernest to start and attempt to step back. Casimir did not relent, his fingers pressed in tightly preventing Ernest from moving as he turned his face to each side, inspecting him carefully.

“Do you have any commitments tomorrow evening, what was it, Monsieur…?”

“Nay, Jules Ernest Nay, Monsieur.”

“Monsieur Nay, of course, well?”

“No Monsieur, none.”

“Very good, then I shall have the details sent to you tomorrow morning and placed in your intray.”

Ernest held his breath until Casimir had let go of his jaw before reaching up with his own hand to press against the imprints of Casimir’s fingers. Casimir smiled at him, his eyes sparkling, then he turned to Chabouillet and inclined his head.

“You will be welcoming to our guests won’t you Monsieur Chabouillet?”

“Of course Monsieur.”

“Yes, deny them nothing.”

Chabouillet met Casimir’s gaze carefully, attempting to decipher the meaning behind that look, but Casimir’s glare betrayed very little. Instead he nodded slowly. “I will do my best.”

“No doubt. Now, I have urgent business to attend to. It has been a pleasure as always Monsieur Chabouillet.” He spared them both a glance before sweeping from the room with his cane in hand. Ernest breathed out a gentle sigh as the door closed behind him.

“What do you think he wants with me tomorrow evening?” He asked wistfully, running his hands through his hair and down the back of his neck.

“Surely you are not so naive.”

Ernest’s eyes went wide and he all but gasped in excitement. “Do you really think so? Oh Monsieur Chabouillet I have desired nothing else so much since I first met him.”

Chabouillet rolled his eyes and moved to grasp Ernest’s shoulders, steering him towards the door and out into the corridor. The boy seemed lost in a fantasy for a few moments, his eyes bright and Chabouillet could feel him melting beneath his touch.

“Don’t let Monsieur Gisquet know of such an ambition, I think it would make him feel a little hurt.”

“I adore Monsieur Gisquet,” Ernest said dismissively. “But I can have him any time.”

Chabouillet pulled back on Ernest’s shoulders, jerking him to a stop, then quickly glanced left and right to make sure they were alone. With a swift movement he pressed his hand to the front of Ernest’s trousers, feeling the chastity device hard beneath the material, and he squeezed tightly. Ernest gasped in response and found himself dragged forward by Chabouillet’s hand until he pushed him against the wall, his fist still pressing against the metal that surrounded his cock.

“Would you care to repeat that?” Chabouillet hissed close to Ernest’s ear.

Ernest quickly shook his head, his breath a little ragged and his voice higher than its usual pitch. “No Monsieur.”

“If I might make a request of you it would be that you stop behaving like an ungrateful little slut and start acting as befits a man of your station.”

Ernest winced as Chabouillet’s hand twisted and he couldn’t help bucking his hips slightly into the fierce touch. Chabouillet glanced down at Ernest’s arching hips and let out an exasperated sigh. He quickly let go and took a step back, deciding instead to place a firm hand on Ernest’s shoulder, keeping him pinned to the wall.

“You frustrate me Monsieur Nay. No punishment seems to work because nothing is a punishment to you. Perhaps I should whip you bloody and then you might pay attention.”

Chabouillet watched as Ernest’s lips parted slightly and his breathing quickened. His eyes were downcast and he wasn’t meeting Chabouillet’s gaze, a wise move on his part, but his lids were still lowered and after a moment he slowly licked his lips.

“Oh for goodness’s sake.” Chabouillet’s head turned as he heard echoing footsteps over his shoulder, so he pulled Ernest back and away from the wall, quickly brushed down his lapels and tried to make the interaction look as ordinary as possible. He considered for a moment, then decided to try an approach which used a little less stick and slightly more carrot. “It is imperative that you behave during this important visit, and seeing as punishment has so little effect on you I must coax you with a reward.”

He waited until the gendarme whose footsteps he’d heard approaching had passed them before he leaned in closer and spoke in a hushed tone. He extended his hand and pressed a light fingertip to the front of Ernest’s trousers, slowly dragging it across the hardness beneath. He felt Ernest shiver beneath him. “I won’t remove it unless you are very good.”

“If that is what Monsieur sees fit.”

“No no no Monsieur Nay, I fear you do not fully understand me. I will not remove it, and that will be my final decision and I shall not be moved by begging.”

“Until when?”

“Still you do not understand. There is no until.”

“But Monsieur, surely—!”

Chabouillet placed a finger against Ernest’s mouth to silence the protests. “Monsieur Gisquet has everything he requires right here to service him.” He pressed his finger firmly against Ernest’s lips to emphasise his point. “Every other part of you is superfluous to his needs. Look at me Monsieur Nay, know that I’m not lying, in fact I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious. Of course I will have one specially fitted to your measurements if it needs to be permanent, but once that is locked in place then it never comes off.”

More footsteps, so Chabouillet removed his finger from Ernest’s lips, sure now that he would not be answered back. Ernest’s eyebrows had raised and he his mouth had fallen open as if he might argue, but the fear that Chabouillet had instilled in him prevented him from speaking.

“Monsieur Gisquet is more than twice the man you are, don’t ever forget that, I should be forcing you to go to him on your knees and beg his forgiveness for your earlier remark.”

Luckily the footsteps in question belonged to Monsieur Gisquet himself, so Ernest and Chabouillet’s heated discussion in the corridor did not seem so suspicious. Gisquet looked a little flustered which rather dampened Chabouillet’s estimate of him, but Ernest was still too shocked into stunned silence to notice. Chabouillet didn’t doubt that Ernest really did adore Gisquet, but he was becoming too complacent and expected far too much. Hopefully Chabouillet’s words had made their desired impact.

Gisquet hurried over to them and smoothed his hair back from his forehead, once again fiddling with his perfectly tied cravat. Ernest had finally snapped out of his stupor and decided to take Chabouillet’s statement to heart, he fell to his knees directly on the marble floor before Gisquet and prostrated himself nearly out flat.

“Monsieur Gisquet,” He said in a voice that deserved to be on the Parisian stage due to how overly dramatic it was. “I don’t deserve the honour to serve you, I am not worthy, I am but a speck of dust in your great shadow.”

Gisquet frowned down at him then turned to Chabouillet in confusion. “What have you done to him?”

Ernest reached for Gisquet’s feet and pressed a reverent kiss on the top each of his boots, then grasped hold of his thighs and hung on tight as he rose and touched his face to the front of Gisquet’s trousers. Gisquet glanced down in alarm and began the difficult task of prising Ernest away from himself.

“André answer me, what did you do?”

“Nothing,” Chabouillet replied, just as Ernest piped up; “Monsieur Chabouillet has opened my eyes to the privilege I have in serving you, a privilege I have scorned and taken for granted.”

Gisquet raised an eyebrow at Chabouillet, still attempting to extract his thighs from Ernest’s grip. “Well? Have you opened his eyes?”

“Apparently.”

“I have no qualms with you playing with my secretaries, but I do ask that you return them in reasonable condition after having your way.”

“I have done no such thing.”

“Well obviously you did something, oh for heaven’s sake, Ernest! Get off!”

Ernest fell back onto his heels, a motion that caused him to wince as pressure was placed on the hidden cage. It was an expression that Gisquet caught. “What’s wrong with you boy?”

Gisquet caught Ernest firmly by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. Ernest moaned and his head naturally fell back revealing the bare lines of his throat. Gisquet watched him for a moment, licking his own lips, then shook his head. “There isn’t time for this, they’ll be here any moment.”

“Then I’ll explain later,” Chabouillet said, taking Gisquet by the arm and steering him back down the corridor. “Is Monsieur Périer still here?”

“Yes, he’ll stay to greet them with us, but then he must leave straight after and with great haste.”

“Oh good.”

Ernest was following behind at their heels, his legs much smaller than both Gisquet’s and Chabouillet’s, and the cage making it difficult to walk comfortably without it rubbing against the front of his trousers. He was visibly biting his lip to prevent the potential of an escaped moan. Jules and Nicolas were waiting in the entrance hall both of them looking immaculate.

Ernest went to join them, filing into line and folding his hands before him as his fellow secretaries were, all of them uniformly attractive and perfectly dressed. Gisquet regarded them all for a moment, then sighed and extended his hands to place them on the two outer shoulders of his line of secretaries.

“My boys, my dear sweet boys, you’ll be good this week won’t you?”

They nodded in unison, Ernest flashing a brief glance to Chabouillet and beginning to nod twice as furiously. Nicolas still looked terrified, Jules calm and dignified, and Gisquet threw caution to the wind for a moment as he drew them all in and embraced them as a group.

“Come on now,” Chabouillet murmured as the display had begun to attract attention from the passing gendarmes and clerks.

“Ah yes, of course,” Gisquet said a little reluctantly. He pulled away, reached to brush down Jules’s lapels, then stood back again. “I’m proud of you all.”

“Don’t get too sentimental.” Chabouillet placed a hand on Gisquet’s shoulder, he rested it heavy to ensure his point was made, then subtly let it slide down his arm. Just at this moment the two large double doors that framed the entrance to the Prefecture swung open and their small party turned to look.

The Spanish Ambassador was tall, very tall, perhaps challenging Casimir himself in stature, and he carried his height well with a straight back and a hand poised on a gold tipped cane. His jaw line was harsh and his cheek bones sharp, his brow heavy, and all this was framed by thick black curls and a pair of severe eyebrows. He was not an unhandsome man, but his appearance was uniquely harsh, and the lines upon his face suggested his expression rested in emotions such as anger and disappointment on a routine basis. The sharp angles of his body contrasted greatly to Gisquet’s softness, something Chabouillet noticed when Gisquet walked quickly over to greet him and shake his hand. Gisquet’s pale shaking palm slipped into the Ambassador’s tanned and crushing grip, and Chabouillet could see his Prefect attempting not to wince.

“Señor Delgado, it is an honour to have you here, I trust your journey was pleasant.”

“Greetings to you too Monsieur Gisquet,” Delgado replied with an accented lilt, a soft voice that contrasted with his intense outer appearance. “I’m afraid it was not particularly pleasant, but what can you expect on a French manufactured ship.” Delgado’s lip curled into what could be a smile or a sneer, and Gisquet laughed nervously at what he suspected might be a joke. He turned to Chabouillet with a little desperation and gestured him over. Chabouillet began to make toward him when he felt a sudden brush of cold air at his side as Casimir glided past him, he had appeared out of nowhere like a silent spectre, and Chabouillet couldn’t help but shiver.

“Señor Delgado! It has been too long!” Casimir exclaimed loudly, bringing his hands up to the ambassador’s face as they kissed twice on both cheeks. “Ah, I see you have just met my Prefect.”

“Likewise Casimir, likewise, or are we to be formal in front of your subjects?”

The pair were now shaking hands and Chabouillet led the secretaries over with wariness, holding his arm out to prevent them moving too close. He felt akin to a mother bird fearful that her chicks might fall out the nest straight into the jaws of the fox.

“This is trusted company there is no need to stick to tradition.”

Delgado laughed. “Ah, but perhaps I should call you Monsieur le Premier now. You are right, it really has been too long.”

“Not since the cabinet, eh?”

“Long before my old friend, long before.”

Casimir finally slipped out of Delgado’s embrace, his wolf-like grin widening. He turned back to Gisquet and smiled at him too, but all sense of warmth had slipped away. Chabouillet studied that expression carefully, but he was entirely unsure what to make of it. He cleared his throat and forced a pleasant expression onto his face.

“Señor, welcome to the Prefecture, we are glad to have you here.” He extended his hand and Delgado took it with a frown, holding his hand a little loosely and squinting into Chabouillet’s face.

“And you are?”

“Of course, forgive me. André Joseph Chabouillet, Secretaire of the First Bureau.”

Delgado’s hand tightened significantly around his own, an almost crushing grip from which Chabouillet daren’t attempt to extract himself. He glanced down, his eyebrows raised, just as Delgado reached out with his other hand to grasp his wrist.

“Chabouillet, did you say?”

Chabouillet hesitated for a moment, his eyes still fixed on his trapped hand, then his gaze slid up to the intense expression on Delgado’s face. He suddenly feared what would happen if he said yes.

“Yes, Monsieur Chabouillet, although André is fine if we’re not being formal.” Chabouillet’s voice slowed and he flashed a glance at Gisquet who looked equally confused. It was Casimir who interjected first.

“You’ve met before?” He asked suspiciously, glancing rapidly between the pair of them. Delgado smiled and shook his head, finally releasing Chabouillet from his death grip.

“No, I’m afraid not.” He smiled wider. “I have never had the pleasure of meeting Monsieur Chabouillet in person.”

“You have perhaps heard his name?” Casimir probed still. He was not unobservant and he could notice the tension that still racked Delgado’s body even now as his hands closed into fists.

“I thought that perhaps I had, but it is no matter, it is quite clear I have never seen this man before.”

Casimir frowned, he wasn’t happy with the response, but he could do little else but let the subject go. This was a matter of international relations after all, no doubt he had business deals and peace treaties linked up in this meeting that he didn’t want to go awry.

Gisquet coughed and stepped forward again. “Then you’ll allow me to introduce my secretaires intimes, this is Monsieur Nay, Monsieur Pinel, and Monsieur Devaux. They have been instructed to serve you and cater to your every need during your visit.”

The secretaries each bowed in turn and lowered their eyes. Nicolas licked his lips noticeably, his fingertips were pressing hard into the palms of his hands, and he looked so very pale.

“That’s very generous of you, I’m sure I will find a use for them.” Delgado’s tongue flashed over his own lips, a motion similar to Nicolas’s, but lacking in any purity. “And in order to be fair, let me introduce you to my three, I am sure they are not as well-trained as your own, but I find their service quite adequate.”

Delgado stepped back to reveal more clearly the three young men who had been standing behind him. They looked mostly bored, one was even inspecting his nails, and they were all uniformly dressed in the same black frock coat with a black waist coat and black silk cravat.

“Señor Aguinaldo, Señor Ros, and Señor Montenegro.”

They each bowed. Montenegro, a young man of striking beauty on the end of the line of three, glanced up beneath dark brown lidded eyes and instantly caught Ernest’s gaze. Ernest gasped instinctively as their eyes met, the small space between them suddenly shrinking. Montenegro winked and Ernest had to look away lest his cheeks burn up.

“Now then Monsieur Gisquet, we have much to discuss and I’m sure there is much we can teach each other. Do show me the way to your office?”

Gisquet snapped himself out of his nervous hovering and gestured back down the hallway to his office. Delgado strode ahead, nodding to Casimir and pointedly not giving Chabouillet a second glance. Chabouillet watched the back of his head as he walked away, still frowning to himself, that face wasn’t familiar to him at all yet clearly his own had stirred something within the man. Gisquet turned back to Jules, Ernest, and Nicolas. “Why don’t you show Señor Delgado’s secretaries into your private rooms.” He pressed Ernest’s arm carefully and smiled. “Keep them entertained.”

Ernest nodded a little too enthusiastically and motioned for them to follow him before trotting off toward the internal cabinet. Too late Chabouillet found himself left alone with Casimir. The Prime Minister rounded on him before he could escape.

“You have never met Señor Delgado before?”

Chabouillet looked closely at Casimir’s face and saw to his delight that the issue was truly gnawing at him. Casimir hated not knowing everything, he liked to be in possession of all facts and weaknesses, and this gap in his knowledge was clearly infuriating. Chabouillet considered for a moment, then decided that the truth was less interesting than playing into this irritation.

“Why, Monsieur Périer, I am certain his face looks familiar.” Chabouillet squinted to add to the charade. “Ah yes…I think…? No…it’s gone again. Never mind, perhaps I shall remember later.” He smiled almost sweetly at Casimir who scowled and took off in the opposite direction without so much as a simple goodbye. Chabouillet didn’t care much for this lack of politeness, he was just grateful to be left alone, now he could finally get back to his paperwork in peace.

 


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as Ernest crossed the threshold of the inner cabinet rooms he took Montenegro’s hand in his own and pulled him deeper inside. Their palms slid naturally together and Montenegro laughed as Ernest eagerly yanked him towards the chaise lounge. At the last moment, Montenegro spun and sat down first, pulling Ernest on top of him, the latter falling into his lap and straddling him with his thighs.

“You’re very eager,” Montenegro noted, running a hand to rest on Ernest’s waist. “Does your master neglect you?”

Ernest flung his arms round the secretary’s neck and shifted his thighs so he was sitting closer, their chests pressing together.

“Who? Oh! Monsieur Gisquet? No! No, of course not, he’s wonderful.”

“It’s Monsieur…Pinel?”

“No, that’s him,” Ernest thrust his head in the direction of Nicolas who was standing awkwardly by the door. “I’m Monsieur Nay, but call me Ernest.”

“Ernest,” He tested the name on his tongue. “Then call me Oscar, please.”

Ernest wasn’t paying much attention. He’d slid in closer and brushed his face past Oscar’s and was now pressing kisses into his neck. Oscar tilted to let him get a better angle and Ernest eagerly nuzzled into the bare skin, now beginning to scrape teeth and bite down gently.

“I think he does neglect you,” Oscar murmured softly into Ernest’s ear. “Or perhaps you can barely go a minute without being touched.”

Ernest heard Jules snort from somewhere behind him. His arms were folded across his chest and he looked thoroughly unimpressed by the scene playing out before him, as far as he was concerned his duties lay with Gisquet only, and seeing Ernest instantly dive onto the soft pillows of the chaise lounge with this stranger irked him somewhat.

“Don’t be jealous Jules!” Ernest called. His teeth slipped further down Oscar’s neck and he began to nip at his collar bone, running his tongue along the smooth lines as he parted his cravat with his fingertips.

“Perhaps we should leave you alone,” Jules suggested, his tone flat.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t mind if you watch.”

“I don’t care to watch,” Jules said, his arms unfolding and his hand reaching for Nicolas’s. “You don’t care either, do you Nicolas?”

“Um…” Nicolas liked having his mind made up for him, but on this occasion he wasn’t quite sure. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes widening as he watched Ernest grasp the front of Oscar’s trousers and squeeze.

“The answer is no, Nicolas.”

“Mmmm,” Nicolas hummed absently. One of his palms was running along the back of his neck, the other still held loosely by Jules.

Jules turned to Señor Aguinaldo and Señor Ros. Their expressions were both blank and disinterested, they didn’t seem to have even noticed the vast array of toys and restraints that lined the walls of the intimate cabinet rooms, or they just didn’t care.

“You won’t get much out of them,” Oscar said, following Jules’s gaze. “They don’t speak French.”

“None at all?” Jules asked. Señor Aguinaldo had taken a seat on the canapé opposite and Señor Ros was once again inspecting his fingernails.

“Not a single word. I believe they speak body language if you want to try that.” He winked at Jules then reached out to cup Ernest’s cheek, leaning in to kiss him fully on the lips. Ernest squeaked in delight as Oscar proceeded to kiss him deeply, the pad of his thumb stroking his cheek and then running down his neck. The shrill sound of satisfaction quickly turned to one of acute discomfort, then a sound of understanding and a despairing sigh escaped his lips and he pulled away.

“No thank you,” Jules said, not paying attention to Ernest who was now sliding off Oscar’s lap. “I think I can do without that.”

“Just one moment,” Ernest said, his voice high-pitched as he quickly slipped out of the room.

“What’s up with him?” Oscar asked Jules with mild amusement. Jules attempted to feign disinterest and failed miserably.

“Who cares? Not me, come along Nicolas.” He took hold of Nicolas’s hand more firmly and pulled him towards the small door that led deeper into the cabinet. The cabinet was quite extensive and Gisquet had spared no expense when outfitting it with the latest tools and designs. There were chambers that contained soft beds with satin sheets and others lined with metal bars and frames. It was a place of pleasure or pain, often both at the same time, a place of freedom and restraint. Jules knew how lucky he was to have a wealthy patron willing to fund such a place where he could experiment freely. Oscar watched them disappear and shrugged, sparing a small glance at his fellow secretaries, smiling back at them with glistening eyes and a wolfish grin.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Ernest was running so fast that he tripped twice on the smooth marble, once skidding into the opposite wall and the second time falling painfully to his knees. The action jerked the cage encircling his cock, a motion that was twice as painful now his cock was straining against the metal and desperate to harden. He had been fine as he straddled Oscar’s lap and kissed his neck, but as soon as Oscar had begun to kiss him back something had stirred inside him and the excitement had reminded him of the small prison that Chabouillet had thrown him into.

He slid across the tiles, slamming into Chabouillet’s office door with extreme force, and he had to spend a moment recovering before he could begin knocking furiously. He fell forward as the door swung beneath him, landing in a messy heap on the floor, once again jerking the cage. He picked himself up, but did not stand, remaining on his knees and gazing pitifully up at Chabouillet who was staring down at him with alarm.

“Monsieur Nay, what on earth has got into you lately? You have become quite hysterical.”

“Monsieur Chabouillet!” Ernest wailed. “I know you to be a kind man!”

“No,” Chabouillet said firmly. He stepped back from Ernest who was still prostrated on his knees and went to sit back behind his desk. “Don’t even bother asking.”

“Please! Dear God above, I’m desperate, it is what Monsieur Gisquet would want.”

“It has been approximately ten minutes. I said a week.”

Ernest shuffled forward on his knees and placed his hands on the edge of the desk. His fingers were shaking and there were tears in his eyes. He allowed his bottom lip to wobble as he simpered in a tone that caught Gisquet hook line and sinker every time. “It is only to please Monsieur Gisquet and ensure the negotiations go well.”

Chabouillet ignored Ernest, taking up his quill and flipping through papers as he added his signature to the bottom. Ernest waited in the silence for a few moments growing ever more desperate.

“Please!” He wailed again after a long while of waiting.

“Your trouble Monsieur Nay is that you don’t think with your brain. Fortunately for you, I have provided you with a device that should ensure all your near future thinking will have to be done with your head and no other part of your body.”

“I can do both at the same time, I promise!”

“No you can’t,” Chabouillet said matter of factly. “Now get out of my office.”

Ernest rose off his knees, wiping his eyes of the fake tears he had expertly cried, and turning on a petulant heel. He didn’t really mean to slam the door, but it still closed with a loud thud. He walked back to the cabinet instead of running, every brush of his trousers burning fire across the sensitive skin of his cock, it was true agony. He arrived back in the cabinet, sweaty and flushed, to find Oscar waiting patiently on the chaise lounge, now devoid of a little more clothing than he had been when Ernest left.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting,” Ernest said in the bland professional voice he reserved for the political meetings he was forced to attend and take notes in. “My apologies for leading you on, I’m afraid this encounter cannot reach its desired conclusion, I bid you good day.”

He brushed a stray hair from his face and bowed stiffly before turning. His cock was still aching terribly and he longed more than anything else to rip off his trousers and free it, but he knew such an action was impossible, so instead he sighed heavily and gritted his teeth.

“Ernest, you poor thing, come here.”

Ernest shivered at the way his voice sounded in Oscar’s smooth Spanish accent, the way he paused for a moment on the ‘R’ in his name and rolled it on his tongue. He turned back to face the room and could feel himself blushing bright pink.

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Come here,” Oscar repeated as he held out his hand. Ernest stepped forward warily and before he could stop it, Oscar had reached out a hand and pressed it firmly to the front of Ernest’s trousers. Ernest let out a weak sound of despair as Oscar fondled him through the material, his fingers clearly stroking the outline of the metal chastity cage.

“You think I couldn’t feel it? You were sitting right on my lap Ernest.”

Ernest moaned and allowed Oscar to snake a hand round his waist and pull him closer until he tripped back onto his lap again.

“I am familiar with these. My master is a very jealous man and he locks us in every time we get a state visit.

Oscar was palming his cock again and Ernest found himself rocking back and forth into the motion despite the ache and desperation he felt. It was perpetual pleasure without eventual satisfaction, ecstasy would take a hold and then never release him, but it was too late as he was already within its grasp.

“Do you get state visits often?”

“Once or twice a fortnight.”

“That sounds like agony.”

Oscar smiled and unfastened Ernest’s trousers, slipping them off his hips and revealing the gold metal that enclosed a red and wanting cock. Oscar touched his thumb gently to the flushing head and sweeped it across the pre-come causing Ernest to yelp and jerk away.

“It is agony, isn’t it?” Oscar murmured, waiting for a moment before pressing the pad of his thumb to Ernest’s sensitive cock head again.

“God yes,” Ernest whimpered. “Please don’t tell the others.”

“What, them?” Oscar glanced at Aguinaldo and Ros. “They won’t care, besides, like I said, they don’t speak French.”

“Not them, I mean Jules and Nicolas. Jules already thinks I can’t control myself, and now he’ll know Monsieur Chabouillet thinks so too.”

“It was Monsieur Chabouillet who did this to you? Not Monsieur Gisquet?”

Ernest nodded. Oscar’s fingers skidded across his back and he arched delicately into the touch, letting out another breathless moan and a desperate sigh.

“You are a man of two masters then? Lucky boy.”

Ernest’s eyes slid shut for a moment and his lips parted. Oscar was now running his fingers up and down the cage, tapping ever so gently, but each motion sent a damning vibration through the metal and into his weeping cock. He started to shake his head.

“I don’t think either is my master. They are my superiors, yes, I suppose, but I also consider them friends, family almost, I would fall to my knees for Jules or Nicolas just as easily. I love them all.”

“Fascinating,” Oscar murmured. He waited until Ernest had fallen into a moment of complacency and then he reached between his thighs and grabbed hold of his balls, twisting them slightly and squeezing. Ernest yelped at the sudden intense pain and tried to writhe out of Oscar’s grip, but he was holding too tight, and every movement only exacerbated the intense pain that throbbed through him. Oscar laughed. “It seems I am your master now too.”

Ernest shuddered. “If you wish Señor.” He was wincing in pain and trying very hard not to move an inch. Finally Oscar released him and Ernest fell gasping into his arms. Oscar stroked his back gently as his finger lightly tapped and skidded across his bare skin.

“Still, it does not mean everything has to be avoided.” Oscar reached to cup Ernest’s face with both of his hands and leaned in to kiss him again. Ernest’s face grew hot and this time the kiss felt harsher and much more intense. “When will he remove it?”

Ernest let out another small sigh. “When you leave,” He said, his face adopting a painfully tragic expression. “But then it will be too late.”

“Shh, no, no, do not be so upset.” Oscar kissed Ernest on the forehead and smiled encouragingly. “I am not going back to the sun, I am going back to Spain, it is closer than you think. Now, tell me more about your life here, I am eager to learn all about you, why don’t you start with Monsieur Chabouillet…”

As luck would have it, Chabouillet was one of Ernest’s favourite topics of conversation and he found he could wax lyrical about the Secretaire for a long time. Oscar gently probed Ernest about all sorts of things, the Prefecture, the building layout, the nature of the relationships of everyone within, Gisquet, the extensions of his power and hand, he seemed less interested in Jules and Nicolas, far more keen to know all that Ernest wished to unload about his two masters as Oscar had called them, and Ernest, foolish and trusting, let his loose tongue run free.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“What have you learned?”

“The boy is irritating and stupid.”

“I did not drag you all this way to hear your judge of character. Anything useful?”

“Gisquet is a puppet and two men are fighting over his strings.”

“Very poetical, care to elaborate.”

“In all senses he belongs to Monsieur Périer, financially, legally, but to Chabouillet his bond is something different.”

“Love?”

“I could not say. Chabouillet is the stronger of the two, he has more power, but he is careful not to flaunt it, Monsieur Nay is obsessed with him.”

“What about the other two?”

“Monsieur Devaux is suspicious, but not of anything in particular.”

“Which one is that?”

“The redhead.”

“And the other? The small one?”

“Completely harmless, probably an imbecile, though who can say he doesn’t open his mouth much unless it is to agree with one of the others.”

“This Monsieur Nay…”

“The stupid one.”

“Yes…well, is he truly that empty headed?”

“He is easy to manipulate.”

“Would he be worth having?”

“Yes. Definitely. Perhaps it was his arrogance and high personal opinion of himself, but it seems as if Monsieur Gisquet would do a lot for him.”

“With Monsieur Nay comes Monsieur Gisquet.”

“And with Monsieur Gisquet comes Monsieur Chabouillet.”

“Precisely.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chabouillet decided as soon as he opened his office door that he would have to install a peephole in the old fashioned wood. Then if he spied Casimir Périer through the glass he could simply pretend he was out and not suffer any conversation with him. Right now it was too late for that, and so wearily he adopted his professional demeanor and pleasant smile and calmly asked what the Prime Minister wanted of him.

“May I come in?”

Chabouillet was standing fully in the door frame, protecting his office from any intrusion, and he hesitated before standing aside and allowing Casimir to enter. He took off his spectacles and placed them in his pocket before regarding Casimir with suspicion.

“I have an evening of entertainment planned for tonight,” Casimir began, taking a seat before he was offered one. “It looks to be a most engaging affair.”

Chabouillet hoped desperately that he was not about to receive an invite to such a celebration and was wondering if he should start coughing now so that he could feign illness later. He cleared his throat.

“Monsieur le Premier throws such wonderful parties,” Chabouillet said with assurance, though he himself had only attended one on a very rare occasion. “I’m sure your guests are in for a treat.”

“Oh, they are indeed. Your Monsieur Nay, a most talented young man, you know he is to be the guest of honour.”

So that was what Casimir was referring to, Chabouillet thought. He pressed a hand to his temple and closed his eyes for a moment. “Monsieur Nay is very excited at the prospect of entertaining your guests,” Chabouillet said, keeping his tone neutral.

“That’s just the thing. I want him to be as entertaining as possible, I wish to take away all obstacles to his skills, and so I need something from you.”

“And what would that be?”

“A key.”

Chabouillet paused and stared. “How do you know about that?”

“You know the boy better than I do, how do you think?”

“So, I take it Señor Delgado's merry little band are just as easy extract information from as our valued Monsieur Nay. He is invited to this little soiree?”

“Correct.”

“And Monsieur Gisquet?”

“Not on this occasion.”

Chabouillet took in a deep breath and held it until his lungs burned slightly before letting it out in a deep sigh. He wished he could protect Ernest from this obvious danger, he did not wish for the boy to show up on Gisquet’s doorstep in pieces, but he was a grown man after all who could make his own decisions. All young people had to make mistakes.

“I’m sorry Monsieur Périer, but I cannot give you the key. It would undermine my authority.”

“And what about my authority? I do believe my authority over you is greater than that of yours over some disposable secretary.”

Chabouillet hissed in a breath at those words. Casimir did an excellent job of remaining collected and keeping his fiery temper under wraps, but every so often the anger would bubble and rise to the brim.

“More words like that,” Chabouillet said slowly. “And I shall forbid him from attending at all.”

Casimir’s eyes flashed for a moment, but then he smiled. “Forgive me. We shall of course treat him with the utmost care and respect.”

“I’m afraid I cannot allow it.” He took his spectacles out his pocket and replaced them on his nose, turning back to the important papers on his desk. Prime Minister or not, Chabouillet would not let Casimir win this one. With any luck Casimir might replace Ernest for the evening, and then some other poor soul ran the risk of being ruined, but at least it would not be one of Gisquet’s own.

Casimir’s hand curled round the top of his cane into a strong fist, knuckles white, but none of this showed in his expression. He nodded courteously and rose. “Very well,” He said carefully, then showed himself out. Chabouillet breathed a sigh of relief when the last swish of Casimir’s coat had disappeared from view.


	9. Chapter 9

Chabouillet passed a peaceful morning without any interruptions, stretching back in his chair and even daring to lift his feet onto the desk as he brought his paperwork into his lap instead. His lunch was equally tranquil and so was the early afternoon, his office blocked out most sound from the bustling Prefecture and he did not wish to call for a secretary once. He assumed Gisquet must be busy with Señor Delgado, discussing pressing security matters of foreign diplomacy, or perhaps inspecting the guard with him. Either way, he was happy to spend the time alone, a rare occurrence, there was no sense of the calm before the storm. Gisquet was not the outwardly needy man that Ernest was, but he often came to Chabouillet’s office at inopportune hours expecting things that not only left Chabouillet a little exhausted, but also ensured he would have to stay well into the evening to complete the day’s work.

“You could have sent word,” His wife would say from her spot in an armchair in front of the hearth where she’d been waiting up until his return, a book face down in her lap. Chabouillet would sigh wearily, hang up his coat, move across the carpet to kiss her and apologise as best he could. “Was it Henri?” She would ask knowingly, and Chabouillet would hesitate just long enough to confirm her suspicions.

“It’s not his fault.”

“No,” Marie would agree. “It’s yours. I shall have to speak to Jeanne about it when I see her tomorrow, and really André you should learn to decline if you know you don’t have room in your calender.”

Chabouillet kissed the top of her forehead and wished her luck convincing Gisquet’s wife that she should spend more time with her husband. It wasn’t that they didn’t like each other, it was simply that Jeanne Louise Gisquet’s days were filled with social events with other women, social evenings too…and social nights. Besides, Chabouillet was sure Marie would never get around to petitioning Jeanne, there was likely to be little talk at all in their meeting tomorrow.

Chabouillet was just compiling the papers that needed dual approval into a neat pile so he could deliver them to one of the secretaries all at once when there was a timid knock on the door. His mind did the necessary calculations to assume it was Pinel and then he called out for him to enter. He was surprised to see Gisquet nervously slip through the gap in the door and close it behind him with an almost conspiratorial nature.

Chabouillet frowned at him. “Where is our new friend?” He asked suspiciously, watching with a little concern as Gisquet clung intently to the door handle.

“He is with Monsieur Périer, they went across the river to his offices.”

“Are you alright?” There was a pause and Chabouillet noticed the slight tremor in Gisquet’s hand. “Henri, look at me.”

Gisquet’s face caught the light and Chabouillet winced. He was always careful if he ever marked skin to do so where it would be hidden beneath clothing. A split lip and bleeding temple were not such a subtle approach.

“Oh,” Chabouillet said softly. He stared for a moment then snapped to his senses and rose, moving to the cabinet, withdrawing a small glass bottle and a wad of cotton. “It’s fixable, come here.”

Gisquet was biting his bottom lip, raising his fingertips every so often to touch his face, his hand coming away stained with blood, just a small amount, but enough to make him feel a little ill.

“Stop touching it,” Chabouillet commanded. He patted the desk and waited for Gisquet to hoist himself up onto it so their eyes were level. He pressed the cotton to the neck of the bottle and upturned it, waiting for the white to grow dark and heavy with the liquid, then he raised it to the wound on Gisquet’s temple. “This will sting.”

“I can manage,” Gisquet said, wincing and hissing all the same as Chabouillet pressed firmly. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do. I was hoping he wouldn’t be here for this reason, I had my reservations over his visit when you revealed it was in fact Monsieur Périer who invited him, but I had hoped he would not be so outwardly violent.”

Chabouillet finished cleaning away the blood, revealing that the wound itself wasn’t deep at all and would likely heal up beyond notability in a matter of days.

“It wasn’t him,” Gisquet said softly. “It was Monsieur Périer.”

Chabouillet sighed and turned to Gisquet’s lips. The cut here was slightly deeper, clearly the result of a well-thrown punch. Gisquet’s lips parted naturally as Chabouillet wiped with the cotton, then pressed his own bare fingertips to Gisquet’s face and cradled it.

“Have you not learned by now that he does not care for you?”

Gisquet tried to pull away, but Chabouillet held his face and prevented him from moving.

“It was an accident.”

Chabouillet gestured to both cuts. “He did it twice.”

“He accidentally did it twice then.”

Chabouillet leaned forward until their foreheads were pressing together, he could feel Gisquet shaking beneath his touch, soft breaths coming and going in whimpers. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“You’re wrong,” Gisquet said. He swallowed before continuing. “He’s a good man and I owe him everything.”

“You owe him nothing, he’s just convinced you that you do so he can continue to leach off you and suck the life out of your body until there’s nothing left.”

Gisquet pulled back and finally Chabouillet let him extract himself from the fingers gripping to his cheeks. He raised a hand and touched his lips feeling the swelling, then he ran his tongue over his lips and tasted copper.

“We’ve been through this,” He said. “You just don’t understand.”

“Then you can’t keep coming to me every time he hurts you. I can’t continue to fix you just so he can break you again.”

“I won’t argue about this now.” Gisquet slipped off the desk and drew himself up to his full height again, which was still a good foot or so shorter than Chabouillet. “There’s something else I need to ask you for.”

“Something a little less weighted I hope.”

“I need the key.”

“Hope springs eternal.” Chabouillet sighed and looked down at Gisquet, he stared intently at the cuts on Gisquet’s face, probably caused when Casimir’s ring scraped across his skin during the force of the punch. “So this is my fault then?” He didn’t sound accusatory, more resigned for he knew the words to be true.

“No, it’s not your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine.”

“How could it possibly be yours?”

“I don’t know, but it’s no one else’s so I suppose it rather has to be mine.”

“Henri!” Chabouillet reached out to grab Gisquet’s hand, pulling it to his lips and gently kissing his bare wrist right over his pulse. “You silly boy.”  
  
Gisquet’s hand was limp as Chabouillet held it tight for a moment, then he curled it into his palm. “This is not your fault.”

Gisquet took in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Please André, may I have that key?”

“I’m sorry.” Chabouillet paused for a moment, sighing deeply as he considered. “It’s just not in my nature to bend to his will. If I do it this once then he’ll have it to hold over me.”

Gisquet nodded and Chabouillet was alarmed at how quickly Gisquet resigned himself to his fate, not even considering fighting back. He slipped his hand out of Chabouillet’s grip and turned away from him.

“It is your decision, I will not force you,” He said finally. “I will go and inform Monsieur Périer.”

Chabouillet was entirely sure that Gisquet would never force him to do anything despite being his superior by some considerable distance. He was also sure that these words were not meant to manipulate him into changing his mind and that Gisquet truly had accepted the decision. Yet, Chabouillet could not let this happen, not as he saw Gisquet raise his hand to his face for what was surely the hundredth time and probe the bruising, and definitely not when he knew that Gisquet would have to face consequences from Casimir for a decision that was not his.

“Wait,” He called out to stop Gisquet from leaving too soon. “Fine, but let me do it, fetch Ernest for me.”

Gisquet’s eyes widened a little in surprise and he was obviously trying to quell his relief and not let it show too clearly. “Thank you, André.”

Chabouillet steepled his fingers and sat back behind his desk as he waited for another knock on his door. He ran through several sentences in his mind, turning them over and discarding them, praying that Ernest would not display any overt insolence.

The knock roused him, a series of quick and short knocks that were superfluous and unnecessary, and so they suited Ernest.

“Monsieur Chabouillet, Monsieur Gisquet said you wished to see me.”

Chabouillet looked up, suddenly remembering the spectacles still perched on his nose and he quickly took them off and slipped them into a pocket. He stared at Ernest for a few moments. He looked almost demure, although his cheeks were slightly pink, his hands neatly folded, his feet together, he was looking somewhere above Chabouillet’s head and not into his eyes. It was, dare Chabouillet think it, respectful.

“Yes, I did, thank you Monsieur Nay.”

He rose and came to stand before the desk, his eyes raking over Ernest’s form one more time. If such a change could be accomplished in a matter of hours then Chabouillet regretted not being able to carry the experiment out for a week as planned.

“How has your morning with our esteemed guests been?”

“Most enjoyable Monsieur,” Ernest said quietly.

“I’m glad to hear it, although my advice would be to remember where your loyalties lie, don’t let your mouth get ahead of your brain.”

“Of course Monsieur.”

“Very good, now would you remove your trousers please.”

“Monsieur?”

Chabouillet sighed and gestured vaguely to the front of Ernest’s breeches. “Be quick about it.”

Ernest hesitated for a moment, then unfastened his trousers and stepped out of them, looking up at Chabouillet expectantly.

“Up on the desk now.”

Ernest didn’t move and his mouth fell open. Chabouillet let out a groan of frustration, stepped forward and took Ernest by the waist with both hands, then easily lifted him up onto the desk. Ernest let out a small squeak as Chabouillet laid him down and began to reach for the golden cage.

“Monsieur please!” Ernest cried out, putting his hands in the way. “I accept this punishment, but please, I ask you not to torment me any further. In truth it is agony.”

Chabouillet stepped back in surprise, then shrugged, reaching into his pocket for the tiny key. He held it out to Ernest hoping he would take it without asking too many questions.

“Monsieur, what are you doing?”

“I’m feeling in a good mood.”

“But Monsieur Chabouillet, I cannot accept.”

“I have reconsidered my previous motives. It seemed to me to be an excessive punishment considering the current time, but rest assured I will still be watching your movements this week.”

Ernest was still regarding the key suspiciously, wondering if it was some test he would have to pass. He turned his face up to Chabouillet. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Still Ernest wouldn’t take it so Chabouillet muttered a curse under his breath and reached forward to grasp Ernest by the cage. Ernest let out a high-pitched sound of surprise as he shifted forward on the desk, his back arching to compensate for how Chabouillet was holding him. Then Chabouillet found the small lock on the underside of the cage and slipped in the key, letting the device click and then slide off into his hand. Ernest instantly let out a moan of weakness as he felt his cock fall free. A tingling sensation spread across his thighs and a gentle throbbing began in his cock.

“There,” Chabouillet said firmly. “Now back to work with you.”

Ernest slipped off the desk and began scrabbling to lift up his trousers with alarming speed as if Chabouillet might suddenly change his mind and place the device back on him. Once he was presentable he hurried to the door and opened it, turning back at the last minute to bow and give Chabouillet a breathless ‘thank you, Monsieur’. Chabouillet smiled in spite of himself.

 


	10. Chapter 10

_"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,_  
_And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"_

* * *

 

  
“Come through Monsieur Nay, we have been looking forward to your arrival.”

As soon as Casimir placed a hand on the small of Ernest’s back he could feel himself melt into the touch. His knees suddenly felt week and he found that prickling patches were skidding across his skin and then gradually growing numb.

“I have been looking forward to it myself, Monsieur.”

“That’s a good lad.” Casimir clapped him on the shoulder and turned the handle of a small door just off the hallway. It was a neatly arranged dressing room. A mirror and dresser was propped against one wall and the window was covered with lavish red velvet drapes. The dresser was scattered with various items, powder and water, brushes, rouge, Ernest noticed a carafe of wine next to a glass.

“You may disrobe in here and store any personal possessions you might have on you, they will be quite safe until the end of the evening.”

“Thank you Monsieur.”

Casimir nodded at him, clearly satisfied, then retreated back into the hall closing the door behind him. Ernest watched him go then turned towards the dresser. He hesitated for a moment, his heart already thumping at twice its usual speed. He had spent the carriage ride over gnawing at the inside of his cheeks and constantly checking his nails, and now here he was within the Prime Minister’s own home. He was nervous beyond belief, but determined too, for he had seen first hand what being in Casimir Périer’s pocket had done for Gisquet.

He raised two shaking hands to his temples and held his head still, blinking hard to clear his mind. “Jules Ernest Nay, pull yourself together,” He muttered under his breath. Then with a deep sigh he began to undress, pulling off his clothes and resting them neatly over the back of the chair. He placed his watch carefully in his pocket and folded that twice over. Then he sat down on the plump cushion and regarded his reflection.

Ernest had always been vain, even before he realised he could use his looks to get what he wanted he had spent many a long hour staring at himself in the mirror. He was beautiful from every angle and in every light and he knew how to accentuate that even further. He pinched his cheeks to encourage a natural attractive rosy tint then helped himself to the provided powder. He didn’t need much, just a little to create a porcelain illusion.

He licked his lips and lowered his eyes, testing his reflection, fluttering his lashes and looking as seductive as he could. He sighed and reached for the carafe of wine, pouring a generous glass for himself and downing it quickly. It went to his head almost immediately, a shot of dizzy warmth. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment then ran his hand across his forehead. The wine settled after a moment and he poured another glass, sipping this one much slower. He was fine with pain, he even enjoyed it when it was delivered with a certain expertise, but a little alcohol always helped him through.

After he was satisfied with his appearance he stood on uncertain legs and stepped back out into the hallway. The grand portraits that lined the walls glared at him accusingly, their elegant clothes and fashionable style seeming to mock his nakedness. Ernest blinked, his mind was clouding faster than he could keep up with. He was a small man and so couldn’t hold wine the same way Chabouillet or Gisquet could, even Jules on occasion, but he was also sure he hadn’t had much. The glass had been small and he’d only had just over one.

He passed it off on Casimir’s tastes. Of course he had only the finest and most expensive wines, they were too rich for Ernest and so he was much more deeply affected than usual. He brushed it off easily and placed his hand on the golden door knob that led to Casimir’s drawing room.

There were more men present than he had expected. A collection of them were sitting around a green felt card table, passing hands between each other, chips in large stacks and denominations. Others were leaning against mantles as they discussed politics, a few in arm chairs sipping from crystal cut glasses, Casimir himself holding court before them all. He turned at Ernest’s entrance, smiling broadly at him, gesturing him forward.

“Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Monsieur Jules Ernest Nay, though I believe he goes by Ernest isn’t that right?”

Ernest’s throat had closed up and although he tried to speak he could only nod helplessly. He put a hand across his chest and held his shoulder in a defensive gesture, glancing round at the other men in the room, their eyes sparkling greedily. Whilst a few of them remained uninterested by his entrance, most of them were staring at him, their eyes raking over his body. Ernest felt as if he had been thrown to the lions. He looked to Casimir for familiarity and comfort, stepping towards his open arms. He stumbled a little, his feet catching on the expensive carpet, his legs shaking.

Casimir caught him by the elbow and drew him out at arm’s length, inspecting him closely. He smiled. “I remember when Monsieur Gisquet first took you under his wing, and I have been eyeing you from a distance ever since. So good of you to join us.”

Ernest coughed nervously, he was trembling all over. “I would have been honoured if you’d asked earlier.” He attempted a small smile, but it felt wholly inadequate next to Casimir’s charm.

“All good things come to those who wait. All bad things too.”

Ernest tried to focus on Casimir’s face, but the golden edges were smudging, the men in his periphery were also blurring into inarticulate shapes. Casimir caught him from a slight fall, although instantly he wasn’t aware that he had ever tripped.

“Some wine for the boy, he needs it.”

Ernest shook his head weakly. “No thank you Monsieur, I had quite enough in the antechamber.”

A glass of red liquid was swimming in his vision and Casimir was holding the back of his neck with a sudden unexpected force. The glass was pressed to his lips and he tasted sharp liquid on his tongue. He raised a hand and attempted to push the glass away. “Honestly Monsieur,” He protested, trying to keep his voice as clear as he could. “I would prefer not to.”

“Nonsense, you’ll prefer this experience if you are not fully in control of your senses.”

The next time Ernest opened his mouth to say no, Casimir was pouring the rest of the wine down his throat. Ernest coughed and swallowed what he could, and what he could not he felt Casimir wipe away with a readily produced handkerchief.

“You’ll feel better in moments I promise,” Casimir said softly, a finger pressing gently to his lips to shush any further protests. “Now, I must continue to discuss my cabinet shifts with Monsieur Marchant, but you will find yourself perfectly entertained.”

Casimir shoved Ernest away from him, dropping all pretence of gentleness, allowing Ernest to be caught by a gentleman who rested in an arm chair. Ernest allowed himself to be pulled onto the man’s lap, feeling expensive material beneath his own bare thighs. He blinked at the man, falling into his chest just an arm wrapped possessively around his waist. It reached between his thighs and groped him lewdly as Ernest squirmed. His skin felt hot and his cheeks flushed, but not because of the hands running over his body. It could only have been wine, he told himself, Casimir would never be so reckless as to subject him to something more dangerous. Surely not.

“Come now Ancel, don’t keep him all to yourself.” This other voice was new, deep and swirling, the consonants tripping and falling over each other in one large cavernous echo that Ernest could not quite make out. He was blinking rapidly, the candles leaving bright spots in his vision, but little else stuck. His heart raced and his chest was burning slightly. He felt a hand twist through his hair and pull until his neck was tilted back and he was sliding off the first gentleman’s lap. He could tell the force of the grip was hard, but he could not feel pain rather it felt like a rough sort of pressure. His feet gave way and he fell into the grip of the new man who instantly ran a hand over his chest until his fingers found one of his nipples and gave a tight squeeze. What would normally have been a sudden sharp pain dissipated quickly into a strange throb.

“M-m-monsieur,” He tried to speak, his tongue heavy and dry in his mouth, his throat more so. “I don’t feel quite-…”

He blinked again, this time his eyes remaining shut, and he had to muster a great deal of energy to open them again. When he did so the light was almost blinding and it took him a long while before the silhouette of Casimir swum into view before him. He was smiling, Ernest could make out that much, and the smile was as gentle and comforting as it could be.

“I fear the usual dose overwhelmed him,” Casimir said. He was met with murmurs of agreement from voices that seemed dangerously close to Ernest and he wondered when and how they’d all managed to sneak up on him. “You see Messieurs, this is what can happen if your choice of permanent protegé is too small and fragile, they must be sturdy enough to withstand all that you throw at them.”

Ernest heard some laughter to his side, distant and loud at the same time. He didn’t quite make out the muttered comments, but Casimir had a reply for them. “Now, don’t be cruel, it’s not his fault really. Monsieur Gisquet tells me he is quite serviceable so we must give him the chance.”

Ernest flinched as a hand skimmed down his lower back and groped his arse, squeezing tight, then pulling back to smack it. He fell forward into Casimir’s waiting arms who held him for a moment before reaching to pull his hair back.

“Drink this.”

“N-no Monsieur. Please, no more.”

Casimir laughed. “It is only water my dear boy. Trust me.”

Ernest felt liquid poured on his lips and he opened his mouth instinctively. He choked down the bitter tasting substance, his entire body screaming at him to push away the hand holding his neck and to fight against it. Yet his mind was still swimming and he could barely think. He gulped down the drink in its entirety hoping that he had pleased someone by doing so.

Someone was grabbing his elbows and holding them tight, then proceeding to draw them closer together behind his back. He let out a small moan of protest, despite being quite flexible he still felt a strain in his shoulders as his arms were pulled still further behind his back and his chest thrust out. He could vaguely make out Casimir’s face before him and then a hand ran down his chest, stopping to pinch and twist one of his nipples, the sensation intensely painful. The hand slid further still and began to grope his cock, tugging it into hardness and fondling his balls with a harsh grip.

“What can we do to him?” Ernest heard a voice in his ear, unfamiliar.

“Anything you like,” Casimir replied. “Monsieur Gisquet has given us a generous gift to use and we must use it thoroughly so we don’t disappoint him by wasting it.”

Someone grasped Ernest’s hair and yanked his head back painfully just as someone reached for his wrists. His elbows were released and his wrists pulled together, tied tightly with stiff rope, and then without warning he found his arms stretched out above him until he was forced to stand on his toes.

“What do you think Monsieur Nay?” He heard Casimir’s voice, but his eyes had long since slid shut. A hand gripped his jaw and squeezed, fingernails digging deep into his skin. “What should we do to you?”

There was a moment’s pause and then Ernest felt his head snap to one side as a slap smacked him firmly across one cheek. He opened his eyes, breathing heavily, and then a hand was once again twisting in his hair, forcing him to look up into Casimir’s face. “I asked you a question.”

“I-…” Ernest gasped desperately, every time he tried to speak his words slurred past his control and he could feel his eyes watering as the fist pulled harder on the roots of his hair.

“You’re not being fair,” Another voice said, from behind Ernest this time, but close, close enough to breathe warm air across his neck. The fist dropped from his hair, but it was quickly replaced by another hand, this one stroking smoothly, parting blonde strands with his fingers. “Poor thing, look he’s terrified, probably thinks you’re going to kill him.”

“Secretaries have no business thinking at all.”

“Oh Casimir, transparent as always.”

The hand running through Ernest’s hair slipped down to his neck, pausing for a moment, then journeying down his back until it rested on his arse. It squeezed hard and Ernest made a brief sound of protest, then a gentle finger was sliding between his arse cheeks and pressing against his entrance.

“Where’s your oil Casimir?”

“Whip him first.” This voice was new, coming from a distance away, back next to the glowing curled flames of the fire. A man holding a cut glass full of amber liquid, leaning carelessly against the fireplace, soft accented voice carrying across the room. “Whip him until he screams.”

“Not much chance of that,” The voice behind Ernest spoke again, a much gentler hand now caressing his thighs. “You’ll be lucky to get a few tears thanks to how much Casimir’s drugged him up.”

“His senses are numbed that is true, but rest assured he is fully aware of what is going on around him, he merely can’t protest. I prefer them helpless.”

“You scare me sometimes Casimir.” The hand was now pressing insistently against his entrance, stroking and probing in equal measure, and Ernest winced at the forceful pressure.

“Good.”

“Enough of this talk,” Came the voice from the fireplace. “I came here to see the boy ruined, not hear you ruminate on medicine.”

“Patience my old friend. You Marchant, stand back or you’ll be caught in the cross fire.”

Ernest felt the hand drop and then the warm presence behind him disappeared. He hung by his wrists in fearful silence for a few moments, his eyes had slid shut again and once more the room was spinning. He heard the crack a split second before the whip touched his body. He felt it lick against the skin on his back then curl round to the front at sharp speed. He was wracked through with shock for a moment, and then a few seconds later the sting began, a painful agony concentrated in one thin line across his back and then blossoming out across his skin.

A few moments after this initial pain the scream came, and before he had managed to adjust to it the crack of the whip sounded again and a fresh line stamped across his lower back. He lurched forward, his wrists held tight above him, every twist rubbing the ropes against his skin and burning friction spreading in fresh bruises. He slumped forward, his shoulders beginning to ache, as more and more blows hit him across the back, one particularly nasty lick of the whip catching him across his thighs. He screamed again at this, and the flogging paused just long enough for someone to stuff a thick cloth into his mouth and then tie another strip of material over that, pressing it in deeper and holding it in with a knot at the base of his neck. The gag made his jaw and cheeks ache and his throat dry up, but it also effectively absorbed his screams of pain.

The pain was immense and overwhelming, it filled up every sense with white heat, he saw only red, he felt only pain, and he could hear the crack of whip over and over again. Behind this sharp and clear sound he heard the muffled noise of voices, some laughed, some made low sounds of approval, others hissed as if feeling the pain themselves, but nothing could truly match the pain that was spreading across Ernest’s back. It lasted what seemed like a lifetime before one last vicious blow had him swinging forward in his restraints.

His feet had long since given up trying to hold him up, so now he was hanging by his wrists alone, an action that sent shock waves of pain through his arms and shoulders. He was breathing so shallowly his body barely moved as his lungs scraped together what air they could to keep him alive.

A hand was at his face, twisting his jaw to each side, slapping each of his cheeks until he roused himself back to his senses and slowly blinked open his eyes. Casimir tilted his chin back, holding him there for a moment, then he let go and moved behind him. Ernest felt a hand on his shoulder and he prayed it would not move from that spot, but then Casimir slipped his palm down Ernest’s back and began digging his fingers into the fresh wounds. Ernest winced and groaned through his gag as Casimir probed each thin line where the whip had broken skin.

“Fetch a physician,” He said calmly. There was movement around Ernest, then the ropes above his head were released, but no one caught him when he landed in a heap on the floor. No one dared touch him as he remained collapsed there for several minutes until finally he was dragged up by his still tied wrists and pulled towards a chaise lounge.

“Why did you stop?”

“To whip over a bloody wound is a messy affair and I am rather fond of this carpet.”

“Well, I’m glad you did, it would be off-putting to do this to a corpse.”

Casimir sneered in distaste and turned away just as Ernest felt oil drip over his lower back and arse, accompanied by a pair of fingers pressing insistently into him and spreading him with a rough scissoring motion. Ernest felt another pair of hands grasp hold of his bound wrists and hold them out before him, stretching him out on the chaise lounge as two more hands viciously gripped his thighs just before he felt something large breach him. He whined behind the gag, his whimpers lost to the tightly tied cloth, and he didn’t have the strength to struggle as the thrusts gained in traction. He was sure he drifted in and out of consciousness several times, as when he finally came to his senses again there was no weight or pressure behind him and his wrists had been untied and the gag removed. He was curled up on the chaise lounge, his feet drawn up beneath him, a blanket covering his lower body, the skin of his back left bare.

He closed his eyes again, opening them sharply as he felt solid clinical hands touch his wounds, a particularly sharp burst of pain sending him into blackness again, and when he woke this time he was fully covered in blankets. His back felt less painful, still throbbing with a dull ache, but now more itchy than anything else, and he was sure he could feel some sort of bandages or dressing against his skin.

“Thank you Doctor,” Casimir’s voice drifted smoothly towards him. “I will always value your discretion.”

There was more talk in hushed voices and the occasional chink of glasses and pouring drinks. This gradually petered out until there were just two voices left in the room. Casimir’s, and the other belonging to the accented lilt that had called for screaming.

“He charges a lot,” Delgado said with a sniff. “You might think about changing physicians.”

“I know he will keep his mouth shut, an invaluable trait in today’s world. Besides, I shall send the bill to Monsieur Gisquet.”

“That’s almost cruel.”

“Perhaps.” Casimir smiled to himself. “I will hand both the bill and the boy over when he comes to fetch them. I have already sent a messenger so it should be within the hour.”

“Then that is most definitely cruel.”

Casimir laughed. “He would not see it that way.”

“You are lucky to have a man so devoted to you.”

“It did not happen naturally, actually it took rather a lot of planning and skill. We have an interesting history.”

“You could have any man in Paris kneeling on this floor if you wanted.”

Casimir laughed. “I have to be more careful than that. I can’t be seen to have a harem with swinging doors.”

Delgado joined in the laughter and refilled his glass, the crystal reflected the firelight back onto his face in white and gold fragments that twisted his features. “You misunderstand me Monsieur. Not just any old common street whore, I’m sure you could encourage those in with a few easy words here and there.”

Any worthwhile observer would be able to notice that Casimir had been carrying the same glass of wine around the whole evening and that it remained full. At this remark he laid down the glass and steepled his fingers before him, leaning forward slightly so that the fire’s glow hit his face too.

“What do you mean?”

“You have Monsieur Gisquet in your pocket of course.” Delgado put his hand up to stop Casimir interrupting and was almost surprised himself when Casimir let him continue. “A man you are fond of naturally, and it was no easy feat I’m sure.” He waited until Casimir had settled back down, satisfied with this addition, before he continued. “But just think, with your power and influence, perhaps even your money if it came to that although I’m sure you would prefer a little more nuance, you really could have any man in Paris. Most of them would, and should, come willingly at your beck and call, but no doubt there are some who are more stubborn and unwilling to conform to your ideas.”

Casimir sat back in his chair and raised his fingers to his chin, he tapped it thoughtfully, frowning to himself. His eye caught the pale skin of Ernest’s shoulder, revealed by the blankets that had slipped off his sleeping form. He was breathing far too fast for a natural and comfortable sleep, but his eyes were closed and he would remember little of this night the next morning.

“I enjoy a little resistance in my government,” Casimir said, his eyes slipping away from Ernest and back to Delgado. “It makes things interesting.”

“Of course, we are alike in that, but surely you prefer a challenge even more.”

“What sort of challenge?”

“A man who refuses to comply to your will, in fact he works actively against you, refuses even your basic commands, takes matters into his own hands, concerns himself with political ideas far above his station, fraternizes with your property and sees nothing wrong with it, lays his hands on what is yours without permission. He is driving a wedge between you and Monsieur Gisquet, and he is grappling closer to power that should never fall into his hands.”

“Monsieur Chabouillet.”

“Yes, Monsieur Chabouillet. He is a dangerous man when given power to wield, I have seen it for myself, you must trust me in this.”

“So you do know him?” Casimir seemed almost triumphant at this, his suspicions confirmed.

Delgado lowered his eyes and stared at the carpet for some time. Ernest stirred on the canapé, breathing a quiet groan as he rolled onto fresh bruises. Delgado’s eyes flicked to him for a moment, then he smiled.

“We’ve never met in person, but believe me I felt the consequences of his actions very strongly indeed.”

Casimir frowned. “I will not carry out the dirty work of your revenge plot.”

“No, of course not, I ask only that when you have persuaded him in whichever manner to kneel before you on this floor that you grant me permission to strike the first blow.”

Casimir took up his glass of wine again and swirled it gently as he stared down into the dark red liquid. He had issued commands to Chabouillet that seemed to fall on deaf ears, but it had been amusing to keep him around if only to spar with him on occasion. His frustrations at not being obeyed had dissipated when he realised the positives of having Chabouillet in the Prefecture far outweighed the negatives. He had been concerned when he had first learned of Chabouillet and Gisquet’s relationship, but he had been assured by various whispers that it was a companionship of mutual strategic gain. Chabouillet had made no claims to Gisquet, nor had he overstepped the boundaries of property, but this equality in the relationship only served to alarm Casimir more. He had taught Gisquet to be subservient, to only exercise his hand to those weaker had him, and these had been carefully vetted before Gisquet could even begin to punish them.

Chabouillet was an irritation and as good as he was for the morale of the Prefecture, Casimir would be happy to find him replaced. Of course Casimir was also not the kind of man to give up so easily, and Delgado’s suggestion would perhaps kill two birds with one stone. He would find a way to make Chabouillet kneel.

“I will accept your challenge, but first you must tell me all you know of Monsieur Chabouillet, I must admit there are gaps in his past I am not privy to, tell me his history, spare no details.”


	11. Chapter 11

_Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,_  
_They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"_

* * *

 

“Chin up.”

There was gauze, a little bottle of rubbing alcohol, a special salve, and water for rinsing. All these were placed on a small silver tray that perched atop Gisquet’s desk, a precarious balancing act. Gisquet was no nurse, yet still he held Ernest’s face between his hands with a great care and gentleness, much more tender than any well-worn physician, and with careful fingers he rubbed the special salve into the bruises along Ernest’s jaw and neck.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little, Monsieur.”

“Not to worry my little one, this concoction is the finest I could purchase and I have been reassured by many trusted friends that it works wonders. They will barely show in a few days.”

Chabouillet was leaning with his back against the door, arms folded, watching the intimacy of the scene unfold with a set frown on his face. Disapproval worried lines into his brow as he took note of how Gisquet calmly took hold of Ernest’s hands and inspected the bruises there. The purple was darker here, cruel lines of anguish sweeping in messy gashes around Ernest’s wrists.

“Who did it Monsieur Nay?” Chabouillet asked, maintaining extreme patience. He already knew the circumstances and was more than ready to ditch formality.

“I don't remember specifically,” Ernest replied with a non-committed shrug. “He said they could all do what they wanted with me for the whole night, and some of them were very excited at that prospect.”

“The ambassador, Señor Delgado, he was there?”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“And did he, join in, so to speak?”

Ernest shifted and adjusted his gaze so he was no longer looking at Chabouillet. “Monsieur Périer invited him to, I cannot blame him.”

“I can.”

Gisquet sighed. “André please. If you're only here to interrogate the poor boy then I'd rather you left.”

Chabouillet met Gisquet’s gaze for a few moments and then sighed and dropped his eyes. Gisquet was a difficult man to argue with.

He finished wrapping two strips of gauze round each of Ernest’s wrists and smoothed them down. “There,” He pronounced to the room. “All done.”

Ernest checked the stiffness of the bandages and bit his lip. He worried it between his teeth, blinking slowly, looking altogether lost in thought.

“I shall think of some milder duties for you today,” Gisquet said, leaving his place at the desk and moved to the rack to collect his coat. “Not too much writing and don't let any officers force you into copying out reports.”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“Very good. Now, I have a routine guard inspection to attend,but I shall return before noon.” Gisquet nodded at Chabouillet before leaving the room with a stiff sweep of his coat. Chabouillet watched him go then slid his eyes up to Ernest. Ernest could not hold the gaze for long.

“You could have said no.”

Ernest smiled sheepishly. “It is not so easy. I didn't wish to disappoint Monsieur Gisquet.”

“To hell with him. This is the worst state you've ever returned in from one of Monsieur Périer’s…” He paused searching for a suitable word. “...Parties. Who's to say how you shall return to us next time? He needs to stop sending you off like a lamb to slaughter.”

“If it advances his career then I am only too happy-”

“His career? Ha! That's rich!”

Ernest slid back against the desk at the sudden outburst, startled into a repose of submission. He went back to chewing on his lip.

Chabouillet shook his head. “The man’s his patron he should be doing his own dirty work. Indeed, he had been doing it for years until he realised he could send you instead.”

“It's not like that.”

“How else do you explain it?” Chabouillet pushed himself off the door frame and began pacing the room. “He is older now, he thinks falling to his knees for a promotion is beneath him, but lo and behold what luck he has for he can send you in his stead, a blindly lead and unquestioning secretary.”

“Forgive me Monsieur Chabouillet, but I do not think many of the secretaries here could hold through what I did last night.”

Chabouillet paused in his pacing and flashed a dangerous glare at Ernest who simply gestured weakly.

“Besides Monsieur, you yourself are also secretary. There is no shame in such a profession.”

Ernest tried for a small smile, but it was lost quickly on his worried countenance. Chabouillet’s gaze travelled from Ernest nervously bright eyes to his gnawed lips to the ugly bruises. He decided to ignore the subordination.

“Well he's right of something, those bruises should heal quickly, I've seen worse.”

Ernest flipped his wrists so his palms were showing and he stared at the gauze for a moment. Then he passed an absent hand to his face and pressed it searchingly to his cheeks. He winced slightly.

Chabouillet watched these exploratory movements closely. “At least they didn't break skin.”

The flash of worried eyes that met Chabouillet’s gaze for a split second was confession enough. He stepped towards the desk until he was looking down upon Ernest’s upturned fearful face.

“Where?”

“I-I-...I'm not sure what you-..”

“I can't help you if you don't tell me.”

Ernest’s palm curled round the back of his neck and he rubbed it in small circles, the fingers of his other hand flicked in canon against his thigh, a multitude of small movements to avoid replying to Chabouillet's question.

“Do not make me order you to strip for an inspection, because I will if you do not tell me Monsieur Nay.”

Ernest shrugged. “On my back, it's hardly anything.”

“I will be the judge of that.”

Chabouillet rested what he thought was a comforting hand on Ernest’s forearm, but Ernest snatched it away in an instant as if he'd been burned.

“Please do not look Monsieur Chabouillet.”

Chabouillet paused. “Have you told Monsieur Gisquet?”

“No Monsieur, he will only worry.”

“And for good reason.”

Chabouillet turned from Ernest and resumed his fierce pacing, his fingers entwined behind his back as he moved back and forth on the carpet with heavy footfalls. Finally, with a deep sigh he stopped and moved to pick up the jar of salve from the tray.

“Monsieur Devaux is in today?”

“Yes Monsieur.”

“Have him apply this, take as long as you need. I will have words with Henri later.” This last he muttered more to himself than to Ernest who reached to take the jar. He inclined his head respectfully and darted from the room.

Chabouillet took in a deep breath and ran a hand across his forehead. He had no wish to be present at Casimir Périer’s social events, even if he received an invitation, no, he was content enough to interact with the prime minister as little as possible. However, the recent proclivities of Périer and his guests had been taking its toll on Gisquet’s secretaries. It was a power play, Chabouillet recognised this, Périer was seeing how many of Gisquet’s toys he could take and return broken until the prefect refused to send any more.

Ernest was much desired, skilled in his own fashion, and very easy on the eye, it was natural that Casimir demanded his presence. Yet, the disrespect with which he was treated at such events riled Chabouillet to his breaking point, and he was no longer willing to turn a blind eye. Gisquet was a fool if he thought Casimir would think twice about causing permanent damage and to continuously agree to Casimir's demands despite what it meant for Ernest struck Chabouillet as a coward’s move. He himself was certain that he would never allow any protege of his own to march straight into the slaughterhouse merely to maintain the pretence of his career and willingness to bend to the will of Casimir Périer.

He rubbed his face with his palm again then took his leave of Gisquet’s office. The hallways were quiet, most officers were out patrolling or sitting at their desks in silence. Chabouillet caught site of Ernest standing before Jules's. Their hands were clasped before them, just on the right side of propriety so as to not attract attention, but Jules looked prepared to fling himself at Ernest if only to embrace him fully. Ernest pressed the small silver jar into his companion’s hand and murmured something into his ear that was inaudible to Chabouillet. Jules nodded in return and took Ernest’s hand before leading him into the ante-chamber behind his desk.

Chabouillet sighed. He felt uneasy. This was the best of a bad situation and at least Ernest would receive some necessary care, but it solved nothing in the long term. The political offices of Paris were on fire and Chabouillet wanted to be careful that his corner did not go up in flames. He wandered over to the third secretary desk where a dazed looking Nicolas Pinel was chewing on the end of his pen. Nicolas’ skin was so pale and unblemished that Chabouillet often wondered where his bruises disappeared to so quickly and without a trace.

“Monsieur Pinel,” He greeted formally. “I won't distract you from your vital work long, I have only a simple question.”

Nicolas perked up a little, but his eyes were still slightly glazed. “Of course Monsieur Chabouillet.”

“Have you ever been to one of Monsieur le Premier’s events?”

“I have never had the privilege Monsieur.”

“Not a privilege surely.”

Nicolas blinked. “Monsieur Chabouillet I would consider it the highest honour, I am often jealous when Monsieur Nay speaks of his time there.”

“Is Monsieur Nay honest in his accounts?”

Nicolas scratched behind his ear with the chewed end of his quill and he gazed absently at the ledgers before him. “I am not naive Monsieur, I know what would be expected of me, and still I desire it.”

Chabouillet struggled to hold his tongue. He desperately wanted to slap all these foolish boys and shake some sense into them, their eagerness to martyr themselves was infuriating.

“Yes, well, continue to aspire to great things Monsieur Pinel.”

“Could you help me get into one Monsieur Chabouillet?”

Nicolas’s bright eyes were almost pathetic. “No I most certainly could not and do not dare ask again.”

Chabouillet turned on his heel before Nicolas could pester him anymore, heading back to his own office. He sat down and stared at the pile of papers for a moment before shoving them all back in a draw and pulling out a book. It didn’t matter if he had to stay late that evening, he would bare all the work then, for now he would escape from this cruel world if only for a moment.

He had barely made it past the inscription on the cover page when he was disturbed by a knock on the door. He raised his head wearily and called for them to enter. Ernest had peaked up a little, there was some more colour in his cheeks, but he was still pulling at his coat cuffs and running his hand through his hair every so often.

“Monsieur Nay?” Chabouillet asked expectantly, as kindly as he dared.

“There is something else Monsieur.”

“About last night?”

Ernest nodded. “They were talking about you Monsieur Chabouillet.”

“When?”

“I don’t remember much of last night Monsieur, but I do remember being laid down and sent to sleep after they were finished with me. I was told that they would send a message to Monsieur Gisquet and he would come and fetch me and that I wasn’t to move until he came. I think they didn’t want me wandering the streets covered in these…bruises. It might have raised questions, I am well-dressed and well-spoken and I was in a wealthy part of town, I’m sure if I was spotted by a passing policeman they would have suspected something. I fell straight to sleep for I was exhausted by the torment and I think perhaps…something else I am not sure was entirely legal. But I couldn’t sleep for long, my ailments troubled me and the pain clouded up my mind too much to think of sleeping, so I tried to keep my eyes shut. There was such a pain behind my eyes Monsieur, but I could hear, and I heard your name.”

“Who spoke it?”

“Most of the other guests had left by then, but Monsieur Périer had moved to the fireside with one who stayed behind.”

“Can you remember who that was?”

“I did not see his face, only heard his voice.”

“Could you recognise it again if you heard it?”

“I think so, it was distinctive.” Ernest frowned as if in deep thought.

“What were they saying about me?”

“It was some wager, a bet I think, this man was saying he didn’t think Monsieur Périer could get you to do something.”

“Well, that leaves much to the imagination.”

“Forgive me Monsieur, I will try to remember, but it is hard.”

“Don’t strain yourself, in fact, why not take the day off.”

Ernest raised his eyebrows in surprise and attempted to stutter a response. Chabouillet dismissed him with a brief wave of his hand.

“I will hear no protests, go home, rest. I insist.”

“Thank you Monsieur.” Ernest sounded a little breathless and overwhelmed. He stared up at Chabouillet with an expression of adoration that Chabouillet was suddenly annoyed that he’d caused. He was sure if Ernest did not leave soon he would change his mind and force Ernest to complete a pile of paperwork.

“Be careful with yourself. If you feel threatened for any reason, anything that makes you uneasy, send for me and I will come.”

“Thank you.” Ernest bowed deeply, wincing slightly as he did so, before leaving the room. Chabouillet sighed heavily and ran his finger down the spine of his abandoned book, then he flipped the cover and gazed at the stamp and seal. He ran the pad of his thumb over the name; Maire Sophie Pagnest, a woman who had now married twice, but still kept her original name. An unusual decision even in these modern times of 1830, but before the wedding Marie had written Marie Sophie Chabouillet down on a piece of paper, squinted at it for all of thirty seconds, then scrunched it up and tossed it in the waste paper basket.

Chabouillet made enough through his job and his various other ventures to carry both of them in a comfortable life in the wealthy Marais district, but Marie would simply not be kept at home. She continued on with her business as a bookseller, one she had grown up from the ground herself, leaving every morning for a job she loved and returning happy.

He tossed the book on his desk and rose, reaching for his coat and hat before leaving his office and carefully locking the door behind him. He was not stopped as he strode down the Prefecture corridor and straight out the open double doors into the city beyond. Chabouillet decided that it was a nice enough day to walk, the air was brisk but the sun shone bright, so he took a scenic route toward the booksellers, stopping outside to admire the sign that was proudly painted with his wife’s name in neat letters.

The bell rung as he entered and a few moments later Marie emerged from downstairs. Her hair was loose and draped across her shoulders, but even as she climbed the stairs she was quickly sweeping it back with a satin ribbon. She raised her eyes to see who had entered and sighed with relief as she saw Chabouillet.

“Oh thank goodness, it’s only you,” She said, pulling on the ribbon so her hair fell loose again.

“Only me?”

“Oh you know, nobody important.” She sighed and pulled him towards her in an embrace then kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t be offended.”

“I’m not.” Chabouillet took off his hat and hung it on the back of the door and was beginning to shake off his coat when he saw Marie shaking her head as she began to pull it back on his shoulders.

“Sorry, not now.”

“What?”

“I have an important customer downstairs.”

“Oh.”

Chabouillet attempted not to look too put out. It wasn’t a long walk back to the Prefecture so he wouldn’t have wasted too much of his day by coming here. Still, he had hoped to clear his mind with a thorough discussion of all that was troubling him and he wasn’t content to wait until evening.

“Again, don’t be offended.”

“I’m still not.”

“Good.” Marie took his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips, then drew back a little reluctantly and attempted a small smile. “Look, on any other day I’d say yes and close the shop for the whole afternoon just for you, but I really have to deal with this.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Marie batted him on the shoulder. “It’s not like that, it really is just another customer.”

Chabouillet took a step back as if conceding, then in a swift motion reached for Marie’s hand, grasped her wrist and slipped the ribbon from her grip before she could protest. Marie made a grasp for it, but Chabouillet easily held it out her way.

“If it is just another customer, then perhaps for the sake of propriety you should replace this.”

Marie groaned and snatched the ribbon from Chabouillet’s hand as soon as he’d lapsed, quickly shoving it in the pocket of her skirts. “You’re insufferable, I never should have married a policeman.”

“You didn't. You married an ex cavalry officer, and for the record, I’m still not offended.”

“ _Marie_?”

Chabouillet’s eyes instantly flashed to the stairs where the voice had called from. His eyes widened and he looked to Marie with raised eyebrows. “It’s a man?” He mouthed.

Marie groaned again. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“I know it wouldn’t be a problem if that was what I was doing, but it’s not what I was doing, so please stop being an insufferable know-it-all and go back to work.”

There was a creaking sound from downstairs and then the gentle sound of padding footsteps.

“André,” Marie said severely. “Leave. Now. Don’t stay, I’ll never forgive you if you do. Just trust me.”

Chabouillet raised his hands in placation, and to Marie’s relief turned to the door and saw himself out with the jingling of the bell. He waited on the street for a few moments, wondering if he should go back inside and find out who his wife had in the basement of her book shop, but he respected her too much to be suspicious, and he did trust her when she told him not to worry, so with a weary sigh he began his walk back to the Prefecture.

He hoped Gisquet would be done with his guard inspection when he returned so that he could have an eventful afternoon void of all work. He’d sworn off work for the day, likely for the rest of the week, everything was just so tiresome and he’d had enough of it. It was Gisquet’s fault really for causing him such worry. Gisquet, damn the man, Chabouillet though, too easy to push over, like a frail leaf in a gale.

With just a word Casimir could bring him to his knees faster than Chabouillet had ever seen a man fall and he simply couldn’t understand it. There was so much Gisquet did not tell him and so much Chabouillet did not understand.

 


	12. Chapter 12

_Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, " Dear friend what can I do,_  
_To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?_

* * *

 

  
Gisquet remembered the first time he met Casimir Périer vividly. It was a cold day late in the year when the ground had frozen yet the rains were still coming in heavy waves, and with no soil to sink into the waters had caused flooding all round the Gisquet estate. The family had moved into the East wing of the house, but there were ceramic bowls collecting leaking water in every room and damp had darkened the pale wall paper. By the end of the week a young Henri Gisquet noticed that half the indoor staff had disappeared, and by the end of the month the stable hands too. He saw his mother’s features grow a little gaunt and fearful whilst his father was spending longer days away from their country residence, and when he was home from the city he spent most of his time either pacing or pouring over figures in his study.

This continued for a few weeks until one day Gisquet Sr returned from the city and began making requests of his son. Gisquet found himself dressed in finer clothes than he had ever worn before, done up by the trembling fingers of his mother as his governess had been let go a few days prior. As Gisquet allowed himself to be washed, his face cleaned, his hair brushed and swept to the side, he considered that he had become a little lonely. The household staff had diminished considerably and horses had begun to disappear from the stables.

Later, when Gisquet would review his family’s papers he would discover that the financial position was dire, and really he could find it in himself to forgive them for what they chose to do to rectify that position.

“Be good,” His mother told him, and then when he met his father downstairs he had reiterated those words. His parents both looked terribly worried, but Gisquet could not fathom why. Even when there was a sharp rap on the door and they both jumped he did not sense that a great danger had just landed on his doorstep.

“Monsieur Périer,” His father said, shaking hands with the elegant man who had crossed the threshold. “It is a pleasure to have you in our home. How is business at the bank?”

“Excellent, a few lucrative ventures have truly taken off.”

“Very good, and you are looking most well.” Gisquet noticed how much his father was trembling and his voice shook greatly. “Allow me to introduce my wife, and my son, Henri.”

Casimir greeted Mme Gisquet, but swiftly turned his attention to young Gisquet. He crouched down, having to lower himself a considerable distance due to his great height, and looked Gisquet in the eyes. Gisquet would always remember the first time those ice cold blue eyes had stared him down without flinching.

“Nice to meet you Henri,” He said, his voice warm while his face remained expressionless.

“Monsieur,” Gisquet said, bowing his head in the respectful way he’d been told. Casimir narrowed his eyes at him, then with a swift movement he raised his hand to his chin and held it between his fingers. Gisquet allowed Casimir to turn his head to each side as he inspected him, and once Casimir let go he resisted reaching up his hand to rub at where the fingers had dug in.

“How old are you Henri?”

Gisquet was silent until his father nudged him in the back. “Ten, Monsieur.”

Casimir rose and dusted off his trousers. “He’s far too young.”

“Perhaps you could make an exception?”

“Such a relationship does not interest me in the slightest Monsieur Gisquet, I resent the insinuation that it might.”

Casimir had not even removed his gloves, but he adjusted them now in the manner of a man signalling he was soon to leave. Mme Gisquet wrung her hands and gave a pointed look to her husband. Gisquet himself swallowed as best he could with his dry nervous throat.

“I do not wish to be presumptuous, but Monsieur, please, the repairs have drained my purse and we have no staff left and now you have reduced my duties at the bank--”

“Enough!” Casimir raised his gloved hand. “Your begging is inadequate and therefore not entertaining, I wish to hear no more.”

Even at the ripe age of twenty-five Casimir had already developed authoritarian mannerisms that made men much older than him quiver.

“You have other sons, no?”

“Yes,” Monsieur Gisquet said nervously. “All older.”

“Send one to visit me at the bank. Set an appointment with one of my secretaries and we shall see if they are suitable.”

Monsieur Gisquet nodded quickly, just as his wife pressed a hand to young Gisquet’s shoulder and pulled him closer towards her. He stumbled back into her calves and held tight to her hand.

"None of my sons are skilled in finance, Monsieur.”

“Can they read and write?”

“Of course.”

“Then that is all we require.”

Gisquet’s parents shared a glance with each other. Casimir did not seem keen to stay and keep up any more conversation, he made his excuses and made his way out the door to his waiting carriage.

Gisquet didn’t see Casimir again for some years, but the house saw a fair number of repairs. Enough to keep the roof fixed to stop the leaking, and his mother was pleased to be able to hire back some members of staff. The stables remained empty however, and there were spaces were expensive oil paintings used to hang that were left untouched. When Gisquet was just past his sixteenth birthday, Casimir paid their household another visit. The older brother that had gone to work at the Périer bank had left France and relocated to Austria to work as an ambassador. Under Casimir's tutelage he had gained a penchant for languages and now lived in Vienna with several secretaries of his own underneath him.

Casimir had entered the house with a sweep of his coat, the cold wind blowing in behind him from the open door. Gisquet had been entranced just as he had all those years ago. Cold piercing eyes in a face that while still youthful had reached the maturity of his thirties. His hair seemed fuller, still blonde, but already tipping into silver.

“Little Henri,” Casimir said smoothly. “My how you’ve grown.”

Gisquet stood up straight just as his father had taught him to do and raised his chin to meet Casimir's gaze.

“Tell me, how do you pass your time?”

“Bettering myself Monsieur.”

“How so?”

“Reading, studying, learning the classics. My father is keen for me to become familiar with numbers so that I might enter a career in finance.”

Casimir smiled down at him and reached out a hand. His fingers brushed against Gisquet’s cheek and then stroked down his face to his throat. Gisquet frowned, but didn’t try and step back as he had done before. Casimir cupped Gisquet’s cheek and made a stroking movement with his thumb.

“I would like you to master a few arts for me. Instruments, languages, an appreciation for sculpture, that sort of thing.”

“Why, Monsieur?”

“I have great plans for you, but first I need to mold you into something special. You have a core of strength in you to endure it, or at least you will learn to, I am sure of that, and you are clever and quick with books, I enjoy the company of learned men. I find something beautiful in a young man who can recognise and recite poetry, who can tell the difference between the brushstrokes of the artists of this beloved land.”

Gisquet licked his lips instinctively and swallowed. Périer’s hand ran through his hair and he hummed appreciatively, ruffling it in a way that could be considered friendly if it weren’t for the threatening coldness in Casimir’s eyes.

“Can you ride?”

Gisquet shook his head. “I’m afraid not Monsieur. We do not have any horses.”

“No matter, there will be little chance for riding once you are in Paris.”

“Paris?”

Casimir’s smile widened until it showed a set of perfect white teeth. His eyes brightened with a predatory glare as he looked down at Gisquet’s innocent face.

“Of course. You may not remember, but many years ago I came to this very house and stood where we are now. You were young, too young for me to take you with me at the time, but I could see potential. I could see potential in your features.” Périer adjusted his hold on Gisquet’s cheek, stroking his gloved fingers over Gisquet’s jawline and down his temple. “Now I see how you’ve grown I know I was not wrong in that judgement. Your father and I sat down together with some papers. There were negotiations, nothing too furious on his side, he was rather desperate after all, but that is none of your concern for the time being.”

“I don’t understand Monsieur.”

“It is hard to understand, hard for those who have not been introduced to my way of life.”

Casimir smiled and dropped his hand as Gisquet was still frowning, still confused. Casimir adjusted his gloves and took his riding crop from where he’d hung it by the door. He hooked it into his belt so it brushed against his black leather boots.

"Would you like to learn to ride?”

Gisquet’s eyes widened. “Very much Monsieur. Every time I visited the city with my father I always admired the horses that pulled the carriage.”

“Then your wish is my command.”

Gisquet followed Casimir outside, both their boots crunching on the frosted ground. Casimir had tethered his horse in the metal ring just outside the gravel driveway that led to the house. It was standing calmly, swishing its tail to bat away the flies. Casimir ran his hand smoothly down its nose.

He undid the knot that passed through the metal hoop and attached the rope to the harness. “Mount with your left foot,” Casimir said, tapping his crop against Gisquet’s left thigh. “As we only have the one horse you’ll have to sit behind me.”

Gisquet’s bottom lip had worked its way between his teeth and he was worrying it anxiously. “Monsieur, it is very kind of you to teach me.”

“During our time together I will teach you many things Henri.”

Casimir placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted his horse, then turned to face Gisquet and beckoned him up. “Easy does it, very good, that’s it.”

Gisquet settled himself behind Périer, sliding himself forward in the saddle until they were pressed together, Casimir’s back into his front.

“Now, you have some fine fields on this estate. I’ll ride us out into some empty space and then you can practise by yourself.” Casimir placed his hands on Gisquet’s and brought them round his waist. “Clasp your hands, and hold on tight.”

Casimir waited until Gisquet was holding on, then he kicked his feet and spurred his horse into a trot. Gisquet slid forward with the rhythm of the horse and found himself pressed against Casimir's back, the expensive wool of his coat in the same eye line as the shabby frequently mended coat Gisquet himself wore. Immediately he felt self-conscious, more nervous than he had been before, and these feelings were mixed with confusion as he wondered why Casimir was taking such an interest in him. Casimir kicked his legs again and the horse sped into a decent pace close to a gallop. The incline of the hill forced Gisquet to grip tighter to Casimir's waist lest he slide off the back of the horse, but Casimir didn’t react as Gisquet held tighter, squeezing his waist with such fervour. He had imagined that riding a horse would be a different sensation, but it was nonetheless equal parts exciting and terrifying. Périer slowed his horse as they reached the other side of the estate, the borders of Gisquet’s father’s land marked off with the river instead of the expense of a fence. The river was wide enough, but slow moving, and it would be easy enough to cross it, not that the neighbouring farmers had any need to, but poachers had tried. Gisquet’s land was all but dried up of game and anything edible from the forest may be salvageable, but not worth the trip. Casimir placed his hands over Gisquet’s and gently prised apart his fingers, then he shifted forward so that Gisquet would have space to climb down.“Be careful, swing over with your right foot and down the left side.”

Gisquet made a valiant attempt, his right foot tangled in the stirrup and he underestimated the height of the horse and how far he’d need to reach down to touch the floor with the left. So he let go of the saddle far too soon and tumbled the rest of the way onto the icy ground landing in an undignified heap.

Casimir laughed, not particularly unkindly. “That always happens the first time. You’ll get used to it.”

Gisquet could feel his cheeks burning despite the cold and the flush was spreading down his neck as well. He made a swift attempt to distract Casimir's attention. “Do you ride often in Paris?”

“Oh no, it would look rather strange to have the bankers of the city ride down the streets on horseback. That pleasure is reserved for law enforcement and eccentrics. However, I do enjoy riding, I feel it helps me think, so I make a point to come out to my estate every so often.”

“Isn’t work at the bank hard? Does it allow you the time?”

“There comes a time when you no longer need to work so much yourself, you can delegate such duties to your staff and those below you, and then you are free to mostly do as you please. Hard work must come first of course, remember that Henri.”

Gisquet nodded earnestly. Gazing up at Casimir, his figure silhouetted against the morning sunlight and collected mist, Gisquet was reminded of illustrations from books of his childhood. The ones where courageous knights performed heroic deeds and then rode from castle gates on their noble white steeds. Casimir had almost as much nobility in his brow and jawline as he had in his entire body and Gisquet was fully in awe of it, his knees wished to cave at the very sight of this man and more than anything he wished to prove that he could put in the hard work he desire. His father had been training him incessantly for his career in finance, but Gisquet would be happy enough to be carried off by Casimir , swept away into Paris, avoiding the brutal career climb by curling up beneath Casimir’s wing.

Casimir alighted from his horse with effortless grace and reached for Gisquet’s coat, brushing away a few slithers of ice that had become attached to the fibres after his fall into the frosted grass. Gisquet blushed again as Casimir touched him and he couldn’t help but wonder what those long elegant fingers looked like beneath those black leather gloves. Casimir put an arm round Gisquet’s waist and guided him gently towards the river where he stopped just before the bank grew steep and slippery. The mud at the top of the bank had frozen, but where the river flowed it had broken off in chunks and was as wet and slimy as ever. Casimir gestured towards the running water with his commanding hand.

“Men have died wading into such rivers at this time of year.”

“Father never let me play up here when I was younger, he was afraid of just that.”

“Can you swim?”

“No, Monsieur.”

Casimir ran his hand up Gisquet’s back and ruffled his hair with an action that could be described as affectionate. Gisquet shivered although the touch was welcome and he wondered if he should make some affirmative noise to show Périer that he’d welcome it again.

“So if I told you to jump into the river, you wouldn’t?”

Gisquet hesitated for a moment and glanced up at Périer, his mouth was hanging open as he thought of an answer, not wishing to disappoint Périer in the slightest. “You said yourself that a man could die, and the nearest doctor is hours away, I fear that if I did I wouldn’t survive.” He looked back at Périer who was frowning slightly, so Gisquet took a breath and continued; “Yet, if you wished it Monsieur, who am I to say no?”

Casimir raised an eyebrow and considered for a moment. He looked back to the river, the glassy waters tripping over each other in messy waves, the occasional dead piece of wood drifting past. “There is a sense of self-preservation within you which is necessary for what I desire. If I told you to jump and you did not hesitate or question it I would be concerned for I would begin to doubt your resilience, especially considering the arduous nature of the work I wish to put you through.”

“Is banking really so hard, Monsieur?”

Casimir smiled. “I suppose it is in a way, and yet, after consideration you decided that you would do it, and whilst self-preservation is important it must come second to loyalty and obedience. You are strong inside Henri, I can sense it, you’re not weak like the others.”

“The others?”

Casimir ruffled his hair again and Gisquet’s heart swelled. “Yes, I have tested a few. None have had much resolve, they broke within the first few hurdles and could not find the will to repair themselves. They were not fit for banking.”

Gisquet remembered the desperate words of his father who desired him to take up this position at Casimir’s bank and who would likely not accept him back in the household if he failed to secure this position. “I believe I am fit Monsieur, I am excellent with numbers, my memory is better than most if you care to test it, and I always enjoyed—…” Gisquet stopped and trailed off as he noticed Casimir staring at him quite intently, cold blue eyes that bordered on grey penetrating into his very fabric, he prickled all over at that gaze and shook in anticipation.

“None of that matters my little Henri. What I wish you to do is an art not a science.”

“I can sing!” Gisquet blurted out quickly. “I had a tutor, my parents wanted me to be cultured, especially after you visited the first time, they were most adamant I learn poetry by rote too.”

Casimir was smiling down at him, his lips crooking into something almost fond whilst his eyes still burned with ice. Casimir extended his hand and pressed it against Gisquet’s cheek, holding it there for a few moments before using his fingers to tilt his jaw up. Gisquet’s upturned face was a picture of innocence, his eyes were wide and bright and almost desperate, his lips had parted as he tilted his head back and he could feel the breaths wracking in and out of him. One of Casimir’s fingertips was pressing against his racing pulse and Gisquet feared that despite the freezing cold he would melt at any moment.

Casimir had to lean down far to kiss him, and Gisquet was so overwhelmed with shock that he did not move to rise and help their mouths meet. Instead he allowed Casimir’s lips to brush his own with a simple sweetness, and instantly he felt an arrow pierce him sharply, and Gisquet knew he would struggle to ever pull it out his heart. Gisquet had never been kissed before, but this he had also seen in illustrations, in the prints and copies that his parents made him study, in the stony marble of sculpture, and in the artwork confiscated from royals displayed in galleries for the people. Gisquet knew this act to be one of love or passion, sometimes both at the same time, and this knowledge coupled with the realisation that Casimir was actually performing it on him made him feel giddy. Finally Casimir pulled back and smiled at the look of stupour on Gisquet’s face.

“I fear if I asked the question now you would jump in without thinking.”

Gisquet licked his lips, he could still feel the touch of Casimir there, hot and intense, his skin prickled where Casimir’s gloved hand had just pulled away and now he was desperate for the touch to return. He wondered if he should follow through and leap into the freezing waters just to prove his undying devotion, but even if he’d wanted to his paralysed body prevented him from moving, his legs rooted themselves to the spot, and his feet planted into the solid frosted soil. Casimir laughed and then, to Gisquet’s delight, replaced his palm on Gisquet’s cheek. Gisquet started up at him through glassy eyes.

“Monsieur Périer, may I come to Paris with you?”

“Perhaps.”

The hand slipped away and Gisquet felt the new world his mind had created snap instantly. The rosebuds he had planted in that fantasy wilting in seconds and he stared up at Casimir desperately.

“Do not look so upset, I am sure you will not fail, but first I must test you.”

“How?”

“It will be a lengthy process and one that cannot be undertaken in this weather.” Casimir frowned and looked back across the fields in the direction of the Gisquet manor, squinting through the mist. “You have no horses any longer, but you still have a stable?”

Gisquet licked his lips. “Yes Monsieur, it is used for storage now.”

“Storage? So the walls and the roof are intact?”

“I haven’t much reason to go there, but I assume so. When we feared the bailiffs would come mother hid some of her jewels in there so I think it is secure.”

Casimir raised his eyebrows and Gisquet clapped his hand across his mouth. His blush had returned, spreading further and more visibly than ever. “I should not have said such a thing, please don’t tell my father, he does not want you to know the full extent of our financial situation and think this is charity.”

“He wants you off his hands?”

“I wouldn’t say that Monsieur, but he is getting weary of me I can tell, I imagine he’s always thinking about how much money I could be making him if I wasn’t sitting at home learning Latin.”

“I do not think one could ever grow weary of you Henri.”

Gisquet’s heart fluttered inside him, a sensation that made him feel light headed and a set of sparks shot down his neck and through the rest of his body. Casimir stood closer to him and pressed his gloved hand to his shoulder, then his fingers curled and his hold tightened. It was a moment that Gisquet would not forget.

 


	13. Chapter 13

The first time Casimir took Gisquet it was the most beautifully gentle thing Gisquet had ever experienced. It was in Casimir’s own bed, wider and softer than any Gisquet had ever slept in, and every touch was delicate and careful.

It was not so gentle after that.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Casimir hissed in his ear and Gisquet winced at the sharp tongue. It was easier to squeeze his eyes shut, focus the pain, concentrate it into one place so he could compartmentalise the pleasure and ride that to the edge. “Come on, keep them open, you can do this.”

Gisquet knew that if he opened his eyes then tears would threaten to spill and then Casimir would see his weakness at it stained his cheeks wet. He could not allow that, he kept them tightly shut. Casimir’s chest was pressed close against his back and Gisquet could feel the heat so intensely. Casimir rolled his hips into Gisquet’s, forcing his cock deeper, it provoked a whimper and a desperate whine and Gisquet reached out to claw at the bed sheets. One of Casimir’s hands was braced against his hip, nails digging in, the other was wrapped about Gisquet’s neck, his throat pressed into the crook of his elbow. Every thrust made Casimir squeeze tighter and Gisquet arched his back further to prevent himself being completely choked out into unconsciousness.

This was the true reason Casimir wanted him to keep his eyes open. It was to see the tears yes, but also to check to see he was still alive and still breathing. He was barely breathing at all and as his lungs strained to grasp air it felt strange to feel Casimir’s hot breath against the back of his neck. Once Gisquet’s eyes slid closed then Casimir would know for certain it was time to let go and let him breathe again.

“Open. Your. Eyes.” Casimir hissed again, his voice tense. Gisquet obeyed this time and as soon as his eyelids flickered open his watery eyes trickled tears straight down his cheeks. The hard edge of Casimir’s wrist was pressed harshly into Gisquet’s throat, blocking off air, and he wasn’t sure Casimir would ever let him breathe again. Perhaps he just wanted him to open his eyes to that he could see the last spark before life passed from him. Casimir bucked his hips again and Gisquet responded with a sharp moan, his back arching even further, he didn’t have air to waste on moaning, but Casimir would force that from him anyway.

Gisquet was drifting in and out of sanity, feeling his lungs scream and burn and trying to scrape as much air in to appease them as he could. His body went slack as he attempted to prevent exerting himself, but then Casimir’s grip tightened even further and he began fighting again. Struggling made him tighten around Casimir’s cock and the sudden sensation of being oppressively full hit him again and he found himself searching for air once more. But Casimir’s arm was still pressed against his neck in a viper like grip and no air, no sound, could get in or out.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally relaxed, turning his thrusts to gentler grinds of his hips. The sparks behind Gisquet’s eyes began to dull and the black spots filled with colour again, and suddenly he was aware that he could breathe. He sucked in the most glorious breath tasting sweet oxygen, the air burning as it filled his starved lungs. The fire was too much and he twisted in Casimir’s grip, but sensing Gisquet’s movements Casimir tightened his arm on Gisquet’s throat once more.

“Eyes,” He said harshly. “You keep forgetting.”

Gisquet snapped them open, staring at the wall opposite, focusing on one small spot so that he could stay grounded. Casimir ruined this plan by reaching in front and positioning his palm on Gisquet’s cock, squeezing it with an out of place tenderness. Gisquet squirmed at this sudden touch, his mouth opening to allow the coming moan to escape, but any sound was painful now. He wondered whether Casimir’s attempts at crushing his throat would stop him talking for the next few days, but he knew that Casimir would never be so careless with his property. He would manhandle Gisquet and cover him in bruises and bite marks, but there would never be any permanent visible damage. Casimir was discreet and Gisquet appreciated that.

Casimir’s grip on Gisquet’s cock tightened and Gisquet could tell he was revelling in the way Gisquet twisted and struggled in that grip. One hand round his neck, the other round his cock, Gisquet was trapped in a perfect dilemma of pleasure and pain. All of a sudden he let go of Gisquet’s neck completely and leaned forward to replace the lost hand with a violent set of kisses. He tasted Gisquet’s pulse, kissing his neck, feeling Gisquet’s slowed heart beat begin to race again now he could breathe normally.

Casimir allowed him a short moment of recovery before pushing against him, forcing Gisquet face down onto the bed. Gisquet was so easily maneuvered in his current state, but Casimir still used force, probably because he liked to see Gisquet tossed around and manhandled. It was so easy to force him onto his front, put a hand over the back of his neck and hold him there, grabbing him by the hips and pulling them up so that he could thrust his cock back in. Now Gisquet was sprawled helpless beneath him, limp and boneless, still making futile attempts to breathe without it hurting.

Casimir snaked a hand into Gisquet’s hair and pulled back, his fist clenching tight, Gisquet’s neck tilted back painfully as he continued to thrust into him. Gisquet could feel his eyes prickling again. Everywhere Casimir touched him was hot and enticing and Gisquet wouldn’t give any of this up for the world. He would take the pain, such immense and cruel pain, if it mean that Casimir would give him attention, whisper cruel words in his ear and most important of all; touch him. Gisquet didn’t particularly care how, as long as Casimir was touching him in some way, that adored hand delivering either pleasure or pain, it didn’t matter to Gisquet.

Casimir leaned forward to kiss Gisquet between his shoulder blades, his teeth skidding along Gisquet’s hot prickling skin and scraping up to the back of his neck. He bit down at the nape of Gisquet’s neck, a bit that would surely leave teeth marks, the place where the lion holds their cubs between their teeth. Gisquet gathered up the energy in his limp limbs to prop himself up onto his elbows, arching his back further into Casimir’s touch, feeling his warm breath scatter across his back and shivering in response.

Casimir reached beneath Gisquet’s body and found his hard cock, moving to grip it tightly in his fist, squeezing for a moment before stroking roughly. Gisquet rocked his hips into the touch, feeling his whole body grow ever more sensitive, blossoming out from the place where Casimir was touching him. Gisquet let out a soft whine and this served to encourage Casimir more. He gripped tighter, then suddenly let go completely, forcing Gisquet to thrust into his loose palm, not letting him come remotely close to want he needed to climax. Gisquet let out a moan of desperation so Casimir clenched his fist again, giving Gisquet’s cock a sharp tug, then letting go once more. Gisquet slammed his fist into the sheets and grabbed a handful as he let out a groan of frustration. Casimir reminded him again of what he could give with another short sharp thrust.

“Beg for it,” Casimir said softly in his ear. “How much do you want this?”

“Please,” Gisquet responded instantly, his voice sliding across his tongue as he hurried to get the words out. “Please, God, please, Monsieur….Monsieur Périer…I need, God I need it.”

“Do you?”

Casimir returned to stroking softly, swirling the pad of his thumb over the weeping head of Gisquet’s cock, moving it slowly. Gisquet bucked his hips into this precious touch, but Casimir held him down by the neck and clicked his tongue.

“No, you’ll get it when I decide to give it.”

“Please Monsieur,” Gisquet begged, his lips pressed to the sheets. He was quivering all over, his toes curling beneath him, and as Casimir squeezed again he let out a helpless yelp. “Have mercy Monsieur, please!”

Without a word Casimir grasped hold of Gisquet’s hips and propped them up again, his fingers digging into his hip bones, but Gisquet didn’t dare complain. Casimir began a slow series of thrusts, holding Gisquet firmly to ensure he hit a deep sweet spot with every thrust, Gisquet’s whimpers and whines proving that he was hitting his mark. Casimir made a grasp for Gisquet’s hair, holding it tight in his fist and pulling it back, forcing Gisquet to strain his neck and arch his back as Casimir thrust even deeper. Each thrust sending Gisquet into more waves of pleasure, his vision blurring as his eyes watered, sure he would not be able to stand up for days without melting into a mess of pleasure, his knees weak and buckling.

Casimir reached back beneath him and gripped his cock even more intensely, stroking hard without reprieve until Gisquet could see stars and he was coming across Casimir’s hand with a loud gasp and a shriek. Casimir supported his limp and boneless body, continuing to thrust into Gisquet, holding him tight by the hips until he reached his own climax. His grip slipped to Gisquet’s thighs and he rocked slowly against until he’d completely finished, then he lowered Gisquet down onto the sheets.

“Thank you Monsieur,” Gisquet said breathlessly, turning onto his side so he could pull Casimir towards him. Casimir slipped into the sheets beside him and reached to hold him by the waist. Gisquet slid closer expecting a kiss, but Casimir leaned back, turned Gisquet by the waist until he was facing away, then kissed the back of his neck instead.


	14. Chapter 14

_I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;_  
_I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?"_

* * *

  
“You will be good for me won’t you?”

Gisquet nodded and gazed up into Casimir’s eyes, so cold and icy, revealing very little. Gisquet’s own were bright and eager, for this was a man he was so desperate to please. Casimir reached out and cupped his cheek and Gisquet felt a surge of warmth flow through him from that hand.

“My little Henri, I will teach you so many things.”

The stables were fairly warm thanks to the summer evening, but Gisquet shook nonetheless. There was a cool breeze flowing through the creaking door and cracks in the old rotten wood, cool breeze that would have been manageable even with the thinnest item of clothing. Naked however, Gisquet was not protected from weather of any kind.

“How long must I stay here Monsieur?”

“Until you have learned your lessons.”

“How many lessons Monsieur?”

“All in good time little one.”

Casimir had taken the bag from his horse and it was now resting beside the pair of them. He reached into it and pulled out a thick heavy chain, the links brand new. Gisquet eyed it nervously.

“There is no need to be afraid,” Casimir said softly, reaching for one of Gisquet’s ankles. “This is for your own protection.”

Gisquet bit his lip and nodded. Casimir would never lie to him after all, and he let his ankle be chained in a sturdy metal cuff, and watched without moving as Casimir attached the links to a low metal loop in the stable wall.

“Give me your hands.”

Gisquet did so without question and Casimir took his wrists and pulled them forwards. He pressed them together and held them in place for a moment with a pointed look at Gisquet, then he reached back into his bag for a coil of thin rope. This he wound about Gisquet’s wrists, pulling tight in a neat knot. Gisquet tested these bonds and then looked up at Casimir .

“Have I done something wrong, Monsieur?”

Casimir looked down at the worried face and smiled, taking Gisquet’s jaw in his hand and stroking a gloved finger down his cheek. “Of course not, you have been so good for me, but now I will discover more about you. I wish to test the lengths of your resilience, the boundaries of your endurance, and most of all your devotion.”

Gisquet placed his bound hands on the floor and bent down, lowering his head and fixing his gaze on Casimir’s boots.

“I am completely devoted to you Monsieur Périer.”

“As is right. Now, get some rest, tomorrow will be a long day.”

Casimir rose to his full height and gave Gisquet a last glance, full of fondness and hunger, before drawing the stable key once more from his pocket.

“Monsieur!” Gisquet cried out suddenly. “You mean to leave me here?”

“Yes, my little Henri, but you promised to be good so no tears now.”

Gisquet’s mouth hung open and his lip trembled noticeably, he crawled forward on his bound hands and knees, but was stopped short before he could reach the door by the chain fastened to his ankle. Casimir's countenance seemed unmoved as he watched Gisquet’s distress.

“When will you return?”

“Tomorrow.”

“The morning?”

Casimir considered for a moment. “Perhaps. Depending on my engagements it may have to be later in the afternoon.”

“But Monsieur--!”

“Silence!” Casimir began to pull his leather gloves on with a detached disinterest. “I asked you to be good for me and you are failing.”

Gisquet’s face fell, his insides were twisting in despair as he felt nothing but abandonment from the man he had come to adore so greatly.

“Be brave for me my little one, be brave for your master.”

Gisquet nodded quickly, but tears were beginning to spill from his eyes and once Casimir shut the door completely and he heard the key turn in the lock he began to cry wholly. The sobs were pathetic enough that he was glad Casimir wasn’t there to see him.

He cried in the dark until his throat was hoarse, then he crawled back to the corner and curled up beneath the hay, his body trembling until it fell still with sleep.

Casimir returned the next day around noon, another bag in hand, and Gisquet was still sleeping as Casimir knelt beside him. Casimir stroked his back soothingly, waiting for Gisquet to rouse.

“How are you feeling?” Casimir asked once Gisquet’s eyes had fluttered open.

“Good morning, Monsieur Périer,” Gisquet said quickly, scrambling up onto his knees and bowing his head. “I am feeling,,,” He trailed off, paused for a moment, biting his lip, until finally he settled on a response; “Cold, Monsieur.”

“It was indeed a cold night.” Casimir reached into his satchel and pulled out a soft woolen blanket, he spread it open and draped it over Gisquet’s shoulders. “This should help for tonight.”

“Tonight? I have to spend another night out here?” Gisquet’s lip was trembling. “Alone?”

Casimir caressed his hair sweetly and made soothing sounds until Gisquet had calmed down, his fingers reaching for the corners of the blanket and pulling it round himself as best he could bound as they were.

“Yes, you must, and it is because I say so. My little Henri, you will learn that soon enough, you will learn to be so good.”

“I don’t think I can.”

Casimir kissed Gisquet delicately on the top of his dark curls and then continued to card his hands through his hair. “You can and you must. Now, let us learn something practical today.”

Casimir rose, taking hold of the ropes binding Gisquet’s wrists and pulling them up with him, forcing Gisquet onto his knees. He pulled gently until Gisquet had shuffled forward, and then with one hand he reached for the front of his trousers, unfastening them and pulling them down. Gisquet stared dumbstruck for a moment. The Casimir reached to cup Gisquet’s face with his palm and pulled him closer.

“I think you know what to do,” Casimir said, encouraging Gisquet forward with another tug on the wrist. Gisquet shifted forward and brushed Casimir’s cock against his cheek, then nuzzled into his thigh. He was searching for warmth if nothing else, his own cheeks almost stung from the cold.

“Open your mouth,” Casimir instructed and Gisquet obeyed, parting his lips and allowing Casimir to slip his cock into his mouth. Casimir was patient, holding it steady for a few moments before pushing deeper. Gisquet immediately pulled back, coughing and reaching up with his hands to wipe his mouth.

“Come on now Henri, you can do better than that.”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

Casimir reached down and gripped the base of his cock and guided it back towards Gisquet’s mouth. It brushed against Gisquet’s lips and Gisquet instinctively retreated.

“None of that,” Casimir said, taking hold of Gisquet’s jaw and yanking him back. “Start off slow, you don’t have to swallow it all at once, just do what comes naturally.” Gisquet hesitated for a moment then leaned forward, brushing the head of the cock with his lips as if to kiss it, then sliding an inch or so into his mouth. He held it there and swallowed around it, licking tentatively with his tongue. He withdrew again, but with a determined expression on his face he licked the whole way down Casimir’s length, pressing firmly with his tongue. Casimir made a sound of approval.

“That’s it, you see, you can do anything you set your mind to.”

Encouraged by these words, Gisquet drew back and took the tip of Casimir’s cock in his mouth again, leaning forward so that it slid into his mouth, tilting his head back so it could reach as far as possible. As soon as the head brushed the back of his throat he gagged and started coughing. Casimir pulled out and rested a hand on Gisquet’s head.

“It takes practice.” He stroked Gisquet’s hair for a moment, waiting for the choking to subside, wiping away the tears that had fallen from Gisquet’s watery eyes. “It isn’t easy, this requires someone very skilled to do properly, but I believe you can do it. Do me proud.”

Gisquet was so desperate to make this man proud of him. He swallowed, coughed away the last of the discomfort that rested against the back of his throat and slipped Casimir into his mouth again.

“Slowly,” Casimir said. “Relax your tongue.”

Gisquet lifted his bound hands to rest on one of Casimir’s hips and pushed himself forward until Casimir’s length was filling his mouth entirely. The tip touched the back of his throat and he paused for a moment, focusing very hard to not cough, his eyes watering, and then he continued to let Casimir push down his throat. He stayed very still for a few moments, not able to breathe, before Casimir took a step back.

“Very well done,” He said, his tone full of satisfaction. “Now, do you think you could do that again?”

Gisquet swallowed and nodded, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. He raised his face to look up at Casimir who was smiling down at him and his heart leapt. He nodded quickly, knowing he would just choke up and cough if he tried to speak.

Casimir held the base of his cock again and held it to Gisquet’s lips who took it eagerly this time, easing it into his mouth and down his throat. He held it there a little longer than last time before he began to cough again. Casimir released him.

“A good start.”

“I can do it again Monsieur,” Gisquet said eagerly.

“I’m sure you could, but let’s ease up to that. Now stay still.”

Casimir gripped his cock and thrust into his palm with firm strokes until he reached his climax, holding Gisquet steadily by the hair as he came over his face. Gisquet closed his eyes and felt Casimir’s spend land across his cheeks and lips and eyelids. He licked his lips slowly then felt Casimir’s handkerchief pressing insistently into his skin, wiping away all traces.

Casimir drew the blanket back up over Gisquet’s shoulders and waited until Gisquet had grasped the edges with his hands so it wouldn’t fall off. “Be a good boy until I come back,” He said with a smile.

Gisquet shuffled forward on his knees and looked plaintively up at Casimir. “When will you return Monsieur?”

Casimir didn’t reply, but he patted Gisquet cheek and stroked gently with the pad of his thumb.

He didn’t return until the next morning, by which time Gisquet was shivering with the blanket clutched around him. His wrists had begun to ache from the chafing of the rope and he had made a small attempt to untie himself, but Casimir’s knots were strong and there had been no luck. He was curled up beneath himself when Casimir touched him gently on the back and he started. Casimir proceeded much as he had the day before, only this time his grip on Gisquet’s hair was harsher. He still pulled out before he finished and came across Gisquet’s face instead.

He helped pour some water down Gisquet’s throat and handed him a small amount of bread before leaving him alone again despite the pitiful protests that followed him out the stable. Gisquet made an attempt to follow him on weak legs, but he was caught and tripped by the chain round his ankle. Gisquet struggled to sleep that night, every sound either terrified him or made him hopeful that Casimir had returned for him. When at last the key slid in the lock he felt exhausted from hunger and cold and lack of sleep. Despite all this he still crawled desperately towards the door as far as the chain would let him.

“Oh look at you,” Casimir said softly. He clicked his tongue. “What a beautiful sight, and it only took you three days.”

“Monsieur Périer,” Gisquet cried out. “Please don’t leave me again.”

Casimir smiled, dropping the bag he held by his side and kneeling next to Gisquet. He took his face in his hands and gently wiped away the tears before carefully embracing him, making sure to touch him with as little of his body as possible.

“God you’re filthy,” He remarked, withdrawing a little to inspect Gisquet’s grimy face and body.

“I’m sorry Monsieur.”

Casimir remained silent, not reassuring Gisquet with a single word to suggest that this situation outside his control was not his fault. He merely nodded his head to accept the apology.

This time when he held onto Gisquet’s hair, the other hand pressing nails into his cheek, he kept his full length inside his mouth, letting Gisquet swallow around it as he came, holding him steady until he was Gisquet had licked him clean. He withdrew, wiped Gisquet’s mouth clean, then stood and made for the door.

“Monsieur?” Gisquet questioned, his face upturned.

“Just one more night.”

“But—”

“Shhh, no buts, I have to be certain.”

Gisquet held his bottom lip between his teeth to stop it trembling, but as soon as Casimir locked the door behind him the tears began to fall.

 

* * *

 

“Come and look at this!”

The voice was hushed, but excited, and Gisquet curled up further beneath his blanket, fear paralysing him instantly.

“Is that…?”

“Old Gisquet’s son, the younger one I’m sure of it.”

“What on earth?”

Gisquet began shaking, his feet curled up beneath him and he clung to the comforting material of the blanket. He prayed that Casimir would come through the stable door at any moment and rescue him.

“What are you doing out here?” One of the men asked him, the one with the dead rabbits slung over his shoulder. Gisquet would never dream of replying and so he kept his lips pressed firmly shut. “Did you run away?”

The other man took a step towards him, his eyes sparkling greedily. “Old Gisquet’s rich as hell, and if this kid ran away I bet he took a sack of that gold with him. What are you hiding under that blanket boy?”

Gisquet’s heart was thumping and he felt sick. He wondered if he should cry out, but the stables was so far from the house that no one would hear him either way. “Please,” He said quietly. “Please leave me alone.”

The second man laughed. “Is it money?” He reached forward without waiting for a reply, grabbing a corner of the blanket and tugging hard. The silence that followed threatened to swallow Gisquet up hold.

“What the hell?”

Gisquet winced, immediately he wrapped his arms about him, covering what he could.

"He’s chained!”

“I can see that. But why?”

“Maybe he’s simple, or disturbed, Gisquet wants him out the way.”

The hunter shifted his poached rabbits so that he could hold the chain links in his hand. He closed a hand round Gisquet’s ankle and yanked him hard, pulling him away from the wall, then he began to inspect the cuff that kept him restrained.

“This would be easy enough to break.”

“We can’t take him with us.”

“Why not? An extra pair of hands around the farm might be just what we need, and look at him, he’s not exactly going to run or attack us.”

He let go of Gisquet’s ankle and followed the chain to the bolt on the wall. With the butt of his rifle he slammed the stable wall hard, then grasped the chain and pulled. With several heavy yanks and a few more hits with the rifle, he managed to loosen the bolt from the soft rotting wood leaving him the chain in one hand with Gisquet still attached to the other end.

“If nothing else, think of ransom money.”

He received a shrug from his companion, but eventually he nodded, swung the rabbits further over his shoulder, and reached for Gisquet’s bound hands. Gisquet lashed out, but he was in a weakened state from several days with little food and not much more water and faced against two men twice his size he didn’t stand a chance. They successfully wrestled him out of the stables where Gisquet noticed the forced lock on the door. He shivered as the cold morning air hit him, suddenly intensely grateful for the shelter the stable had provided him for the past few nights.

One of the men slipped rope around one of his elbows, then passed this round his back to the other and pulled them together as much as possible with his wrists still bound in front of him. Gisquet struggled and tried to kick out, but the chain round his ankle was yanked sharply and he tripped forward landing hard on the frosted ground.

“He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

“Please!” Gisquet cried out. “You can’t take me.”

A loop of rope passed over his head and tightened round his neck and by this he was dragged to his feet. Gisquet was sobbing, still attempting to fight back despite his bonds and the two strong men overpowering him.

“You can’t!” He shouted again. “I belong to Monsieur Périer.”

The shot was clear in the silent morning, piercing through the sky, a flurry of birds rustling from the branches and flying towards the clouds just as it died down. Gisquet winced so his eyes were closed as he heard the thud beside him, but he opened them again just in time to see Casimir dismount his horse, pull his knife from the ornate sheath at his side, and plunge it straight between the ribs of the second hunter who was too shocked to move.

Now unsupported, Gisquet felt his knees buckle beneath him, but before he could hit the floor Casimir’s strong arms were beneath his back, holding him and lifting him to his feet. The rope round his elbows and wrists was cut and discarded and then Casimir picked Gisquet up, lifting him into his arms and cradling him towards his chest. “You’re alright,” He murmured softly as Gisquet flung his arms round his neck. “You’re safe.”

Gisquet sobbed quietly, burying his face in Casimir’s traveling cloak. “I’m sorry,” He whimpered. “I should have fought harder.”

Casimir carried him to his horse and set him down on the saddle before climbing up behind him. He took up the reigns in one hand and slipped the other arm round Gisquet’s waist to hold him steady. He kicked and spurred his horse on back towards the house, Gisquet shivering as the cold wind brushed past his naked body, he clung tight to the saddle and slipped back towards Casimir.

“Tell me again what you said just now,” Casimir murmured in his ear as he sped the horse even faster.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, not that, before that.”

“I-…I belong to you Monsieur Périer?”

“Yes, that’s it, repeat that for me.” Casimir leaned even closer, sheltering Gisquet with his cloak, his palm pressing tighter into his waist.

“I belong to you, I belong to you, I belong to you.”


	15. Chapter 15

_"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind Sir, that cannot be,_  
_I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"_

* * *

 

Casimir bought Gisquet clothes in the finest cuts, often they found themselves together in the private rooms of an excellent Parisian tailor, Gisquet ensnared by measuring tapes and draped cloth and Casimir watching on with a keen eye. Everything was approved from his shoes to his cravat, his gloves too where made to measure, and Casimir ensured he had a suitable array of hats for fine society.  
Casimir had requested Gisquet’s presence in his office at the bank, and so Gisquet dutifully came, dressed in a black velvet tailcoat and silk cravat. Casimir smiled as he entered, eyes sparkling as he raked his eyes down his form.

“I have a special visitor coming just for you,” He said, relishing in Gisquet’s raised eyebrows and confusion. “He is to paint you.”

“Paint me?”

“Yes, I wish for you to immortalised, my beautiful creation, and so I have ordered a portrait.”

Gisquet bowed his head. “Surely an unnecessary expense on my behalf, Monsieur. You would grow tired of my face.”

“Perhaps one day, but the face in this portrait representing you as you are now, that I feel I shall never grow tired of.”

Gisquet raised a hand to his cheek and touched the skin that Casimir was staring at, it felt smooth enough under his touch, youthful and glowing, but he was sure he was nothing truly special.

“If I may be permitted to ask Monsieur, why me? Why not any of your other employees?”

Casimir rose from his desk and rounded it, coming to stand in front of Gisquet, the sudden height imbalance immediately obvious. “You are my finest project and it is a selfish motive indeed to wish to preserve you. I cannot put you behind glass yourself for I still wish to use you, a painting is a happy medium.”

Casimir adjusted Gisquet’s cravat, straightening the bow, then his fingers slid down the smooth velvet and brushed his waist. “This outfit pleases me. Simple yet refined, but this-” he reached for one of Gisquet’s limper curls, “This must be improved upon.”

Gisquet frowned and bit his lip. “I try Monsieur, I really do, but it is so hard to get the curls you desire.”

“And yet I still want them so you must persevere.”

Gisquet bowed his head. He reached for one of Casimir’s hands and took the wrist between his fingers, inclining his head slightly so that he could kiss the back of Casimir’s hand with complete reverence.

“Please do not think me insolent.”

Casimir smiled and touched his other palm to Gisquet’s cheek. “Insolence is something I am adept at coping with, it would be no matter. You are quite the specimen my dear boy, and a few loose curls do not spoil that.”

Gisquet bit his lip as Casimir’s hand snaked beneath his chin and tilted his face up. “Why do you still look so worried?”

"Monsieur, I won't burden you.”

Casimir’s hand tightened on his jaw. “As you are mine all your burdens are my burdens. I insist.”

Gisquet nodded as best he could with his face in the grip of Casimir’s sharp fingers. “I try my best to be obedient, and yet there are some things out of my control. I fear I will never be able to wholly please you.”

Casimir touched Gisquet’s cheek fondly and clicked his tongue. “Pleasure is never something that can be fully completed, I have found it comes best in slithers and waves as it can be quite overwhelming if not contrasted with pain, but of course you know that.”

“I do, Monsieur.”

“Then remember that that pretty little head is not for worries but for service.”

Gisquet inclined his head then without prompting sunk to his knees and reached once more for Casimir’s hand. He kissed the palm as if he were kissing Christ’s wounds then he kissed he wrist, sensing Casimir’s pulse beneath his lips. His fingers reached for the fastenings of Casimir’s trousers, fumbling with the buttons and tugging them down until he could nuzzle his face against his master’s cock. He breathed in deeply, feeling calm in the encompassing warmth, his face between Casimir’s thighs, his cheek gently brushing his length. Casimir made a sound of approval then extended a hand to tangle it in Gisquet’s hair, twirling his fingers through the strands and tugging.

“This is why I am so fond of you my little one. Always above and beyond the call of duty.”

Gisquet kissed the tip of Casimir’s cock, a shudder of warmth running through him at the praise. He felt such delight as he rubbed his cheek into Casimir’s thigh, the warmth comforting, waiting for Casimir to fully harden before he parted his lips and slid his length down his throat. Casimir rested thick and heavy in his mouth, but this was no longer too much to bare. Instead he steadied himself with a hand on Casimir’s thigh and began to suck hard. His cheeks hollowed and he swallowed around the cock in his mouth, running his tongue across the pulsing veins, feeling it wholly in his mouth. Gisquet heard a sharp intake of breath from above him and Casimir’s hand tightened in his hair, refusing to let him retreat for air, and then his other hand reached down to pinch Gisquet’s nose, denying him air from there too. Gisquet remained calm, continuing to suck until there truly was no air left and then he made an attempt to gasp to fill his lungs, but the fist in his hair was tight and kept him held firm. Gisquet gagged and choked, his nails digging deeper into Casimir’s thigh, trying to find some leverage to pull himself off the large cock in his mouth. His eyes began to water and his lungs burned for air, in a final plea for air he made a desperate noise that came out hideously strangled. It used the last of his breath and fell on deaf ears. His chest ached terribly as did his throat and jaw and his lungs were screaming for him to breathe, instinct was not allowed control, the sense of Casimir’s cock filling him up wholly and choking him was the last he felt before the dark edges of his vision swallowed him up whole and he lost consciousness.

When he came to he felt a warm wetness on his face and could taste Casimir in his mouth. He reached a weary hand up to touch his cheek and felt the come smeared there. It was not a stretch to think that Casimir had finished after he'd slipped into darkness and come across his unconscious face. Gisquet felt a flush spread across his cheeks and down his neck as he imagined Casimir using his limp and useless body when he couldn't protest, not caring to see if he was still alive until he had first reached his climax.

A wet cloth pressed against his forehead and then set to clean his face with clinical precision. The smooth material pressed insistently at his cheeks, wiping away the still wet remnants of Casimir’s satisfaction.

“Can you speak?”

Casimir’s voice sounded distant and echoey, as if coming from the room next door. Gisquet opened his mouth but found words had fled, instead he let out a small whimper, the sound foreign to his ears.

“Better than nothing I suppose.” Casimir stroked Gisquet’s cheek and felt his forehead. “A headache is common after loss of consciousness from oxygen deprivation. Nothing permanent.”

“I feel…” Gisquet paused and raised a hand to his lips, pressing his fingertips into numb and tingling flesh.

“Yes?” Casimir prompted, dipping the cloth into a bowl of water wringing it out and running it once more across Gisquet’s forehead.

“Dizzy.”

“That's to be expected.”

"Did I please you?” It was all Gisquet could ask. He couldn't begin to think of his own health, his body felt boneless and superfluous to his desire to serve.

“You did,” Casimir said simply. “It's a shame really you could not see yourself. You looked quite beautiful as you slipped away, and you struggled so nicely.”

Gisquet found the sound in the room returning to him more clearly, the echoes dissipating into clarity. “Thank you for letting me serve you.”

Casimir placed his bare palm on Gisquet’s forehead and Gisquet felt almost burned by the touch. “I doubt there will ever be another like you my little Henri,” Casimir said fondly. Gisquet smiled and let his eyes flutter so that Casimir could pass the wet cloth over his face again.

The cushions of Casimir’s divan were soft and easy to fall into and Gisquet was willing to dull his senses if it meant relaxing further. The headache Casimir had mentioned had yet to manifest although Gisquet could feel the beginning of a dull throb at his temples. He felt a hand slip beneath the soft pillow that cradled his head and help him up just before a glass was pressed to his lips.

“Get this down you.”

Gisquet sipped a little although most ended up dribbling down his chin, but a handkerchief was quickly there to wipe it up. “What's in it?” He asked softly.

“Just water.” Casimir laughed and pulled up further with his hand so that Gisquet was sitting and meeting his gaze. “No more questions now.”

He leaned in to kiss Gisquet’s wet lips, relishing in the small ‘mmphf’ of confusion the action produced. Gisquet was quick to kiss back and it was Casimir who had to break away first.

“So eager so soon, but I need you to rest tonight.

”“Why Monsieur?”

“I have important friends to introduce you to.”

* * *

In the morning Gisquet sat for his portrait. Casimir made solid use of his mouth first, then placed a pretty glass plug inside his arse, so that as he sat uncomfortably on the straight-backed chair he could feel Casimir's presence within him. His lips were swollen and red, his eyes glazed, and he look thoroughly used and content. Casimir hung the portrait in his office where few eyes would ever see it.

* * *

 

 

“No need to be afraid, none of these men will hurt you.”

Gisquet looked up at Casimir with his wide eyes then back at the men seated around the dining table.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Casimir said darkly, eyeing each member of his cabinet in turn. “Now the carpet should be good to your knees so you should have no trouble under the table.”

Gisquet glanced at Casimir then quickly nodded, dropping to his knees and ducking beneath the sumptuous red table cloth and crawling between two mahogany legs. Gisquet shifted forward on his knees to the first set of legs and pressed his hand to the man’s thigh.

“Henri!”

Gisquet stopped instantly, snapping his hand back as if he’d been burnt, the voice of his master calling him to attention instantly.

“Start with me please, I won’t want you after your mouth has been tainted.”

Gisquet crawled back to Casimir. His hand had snaked under the table and was reaching for him so Gisquet took it in his own and appreciated the squeeze. He waited a moment then slipped out of Casimir’s grip, turning his attention to Casimir’s trousers, he undid them and slid them down as far as was necessary.

Casimir was already hard and so it was an easy job to simply slide him into his mouth. He knelt between Casimir’s legs, holding tight to the closest table leg, and wrapped his lips around Casimir’s length, taking care to keep his teeth out the way as he had been taught.

It wasn’t long before Casimir was spilling into his mouth and he swallowed every drop. Wordlessly, Casimir passed a handkerchief under the table and Gisquet used it to wipe his lips before crawling to the next man.

He moved round the table, stopping before each of Casimir’s associates and making them aware of his presence with a soft press of his palm on their thigh. Some waited for him to unfasten their trousers for him, others did it themselves, and there were others he came to who already had their cocks out and were stroking them as they waited for their turn. Gisquet dutifully slid between their parted knees and took each of their cocks in his mouth, trying to be as quiet as possible and not dare to choke lest he disturb the important meeting going on above him.

“Where is he?” Casimir said suddenly, interrupting the political proceedings.

“Here.” The reply came from the man above Gisquet. Casimir made an appreciative noise.

“He’s faster than I expected.”

“He is indeed talented, where did you pick him up?”

“Some derelict country farm.”

“He isn’t of higher birth then?”

“Well, the family used to be. It had fallen on hard times but some things simply cannot be allowed to go to waste.”

Gisquet heard the clink of glass from above and the pouring of liquid. He closed his eyes, focusing on Casimir’s voice as it carried through the room.

“Pass this to him when he’s done with you. Allow him a break before he moves on.”

“You’re too kind Monsieur Casimir.”

“Not at all. Kindness where kindness is due.”

Gisquet took the glass of wine that was passed to him by an unknown hand and he drunk it quickly before passing the empty glass back up. He felt strangely safe down beneath the table as a mysterious and faceless entity, he could always turn to see Casimir’s recognisable boots at the head of the table if he got nervous. He rested for mere moments before continuing, finishing the entire table long before the meeting was up. He knelt beside Casimir’s chair, his head resting in his lap, relishing in the moments when Casimir would reach down and stroke his fingers through his curls. When the meeting was done he remained on his knees until everyone had left, then he thanked Casimir for the opportunity to serve, and Casimir ruffled his hair with pride.

The next morning Gisquet found himself in a meeting of his own with a lawyer named Renard, a man with a persistently raised eyebrow and a smirk. Gisquet attempted to read from his ledger and remark on the details of the case with the bank, but Renard was staring at him with a broad grin and sparkling eyes.

Gisquet coughed uncomfortably and shifted in his chair, but Renard was still raking his eyes over him.

“Monsieur Renard, is something wrong?” He asked eventually.

“Not at all Monsieur Gisquet, although it is a pleasure to see the rest of you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am well acquainted with your mouth after all.”

Gisquet buried his face in his ledger, his cheeks burning bright red. He spluttered before trying to speak, but found his voice not quite in working order. He lowered the ledger and scrutinised Renard carefully, but it was no use, all the men Casimir required him to service remained above the table whilst he remained beneath.

“Forgive me Monsieur Renard, if we could perhaps return to—”

Renard was standing now, rising from his seat and hooking a thumb into the waist of his trousers, staring down at Gisquet with a predatory glare. “It has been a tiring day Monsieur Gisquet, I’m sure you know what could help me relax.”

“Monsieur…I don’t really—”

“I could pay of course,” Renard added as he stepped closer to the desk. Gisquet blushed harder. “I don’t think Monsieur Casimir would like you to refuse.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Gisquet said more to himself, sounding worried. “No…I don’t suppose he would. Well…”

“I am glad we have that settled.”

Gisquet licked his dry lips and lowered himself carefully to his knees.

 

* * *

 

“Henri, don’t hover in the doorway, you’re a banker not a fly.”

Gisquet nodded quickly and attempted to enter Casimir’s office fully, but not before tripping and coming to an anxious halt before Casimir’s desk.

“Monsieur Casimir,” He greeted formally, bowing low. “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Yes?”

“I am yours, I know that, and sometimes you permit me to service your friends and colleagues.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No Monsieur!” Gisquet said quickly. “Not when you are there.”

“I never intend to make you service them if I am not in the room. I will always be there to make sure you are safe and cared for.”

Gisquet breathed a sigh. He began to gnaw at his bottom lip, knowing he should inform Casimir of what had transpired, but knowing he would also be betraying a superior if he came forward.

“What’s the matter Henri? Is there someone I make you service you don’t like?”

“No Monsieur, not at all.” He took a deep breath and then before he could stop it the entire story was tumbling out. He spared no detail, even when Casimir looked at him with disappointment he did not stop revealing everything that had happened. There was a long pause before Casimir spoke again.

“This will not do Henri.”

“I know Monsieur, I’m sorry, it’s entirely my fault.”

Casimir frowned, but didn’t reply directly to this. “Monsieur Renard will not have retired for the day I expect, shall we go and pay him a visit together?”

Casimir stood before Gisquet could either agree or protest, sweeping forward and grasping him by the elbow, pulling him out the office and into the corridor. He didn’t let go until they’d reached the offices that houses the bank’s lawyers, and he entered one without knocking. He beckoned Gisquet to follow him inside.

“Monsieur Renard,” Casimir greeted smoothly, resting his hand atop the silver head of his cane. “I trust you are well.”

Renard rose quickly, scraping his chair behind him. “Good afternoon Monsieur Casimir, I am as well as a man can be these days.” He looked past Casimir at Gisquet who was hovering nervously behind his master like an obedient dog. Renard smirked. “And Monsieur Gisquet, a pleasure to see you again so soon.”

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Casimir snapped. The smirk slipped away and Renard glanced nervously back at Casimir. “You have disappointed me Monsieur Renard, and I’m here to set it right. On your knees before me if you please.”

Renard did not need to be told twice. He darted out from behind his desk with twice the speed he usually adopted and dropped to his knees on the hard wooden floor. The change was extreme and immediate, smirk gone, eyes lowered, body language utterly passive.

“What do you require of me Monsieur?”

“When I am pleased with a man’s work I believe it deserves a reward, and so I placed you in such a prominent position, and I allowed you the privilege of being served by my finest. Monsieur Gisquet is better than any man I have ever known, you should have been grateful to have him in your presence.”

“I was Monsieur,” Renard said weakly.

“Monsieur Gisquet reports to me that you treated him with the greatest of disrespect at your meeting earlier today.”

“It was not my intention to offend.”

“And yet you did Monsieur Renard, and now you will atone.”

Casimir grasped Gisquet by the elbow and pulled him forward, positioning him before the kneeling Renard. His hand slid down Gisquet’s side, resting for a moment at the crook of his waist, before slipping to run along his crotch. Gisquet shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching.

“Monsieur?” He said uncertainly, gazing into Casimir’s expression for reassurance. Casimir ignored him, instead unfastening his trousers and pulling out his cock with a clinical detachment. He stroked it himself in a tight fist, then tugged Gisquet forward by it, pressing the tip to Renard’s mouth.

“Atone, Monsieur Renard. Now is your chance.”

Renard’s mouth opened reluctantly and he allowed Gisquet’s cock to slip inside. He choked at first, the feeling obviously new to him, but he swallowed around the length as best he could. Casimir’s hand had run beneath Gisquet’s cock and was now fondling his balls in a manner that was rough and possessive.

He squeezed tightly, provoking a high pitched yelp from Gisquet, just as Renard took him deeper into his mouth. Gisquet was unused to the sensation, warmth and wetness encompassing him completely, overwhelming his senses in a most unfamiliar way. Casimir’s hand released his balls and slide round his back to grip his arse. He gave it a tight squeeze then slapped it hard, causing Gisquet to trip forward. His cock jammed hard into the back of Renard’s throat and Renard instantly pulled back, coughing and spluttering.

“I don’t think so,” Casimir said harshly, gripping a handful of Renard’s hair in a tight fist and shoving him forwards back onto Gisquet’s cock. “You will finish this.”

“Monsieur,” Gisquet said softly, his voice significantly pained. “I do not think I can do this.”

Casimir locked eyes with his charge and reached a hand up to stroke his cheek. “You must.”

Gisquet glanced down at Renard whose lips were working furiously around his cock, then he looked back at Casimir’s intense gaze, and finally he squeezed his eyes tight shut. He reached blindly for Casimir’s hand, gripping it tightly, his heart thumping even harder as he felt Casimir squeeze back.

It was with this thought that he came down Renard’s throat causing the man on his knees to choke even harder. Casimir caught him in his grip before he tried to pull back, keeping his mouth firmly speared on Gisquet’s cock until he had swallowed all he could.

“Stand up,” Casimir commanded once he was sure Gisquet was completely finished. Renard stood on trembling legs, brushing his knees to dispel the ache that had blossomed there.

“Every slight on my protegé I consider a direct insult. When you disrespect Monsieur Gisquet then you disrespect me. I trust you will not disrespect me again.”

“No Monsieur Périer,” Renard replied in a hoarse voice.

“Very good, now get out.”

Renard left the room as if his heels were burning. Casimir turned back to Gisquet and laid a hand on his shoulder, he pressed in a gesture of comfort. “I am so proud of you Henri, my little Henri who I trained with my own hand. I think no less of you when you are on your knees than when you stand before me, and I will not suffer a man who does. I have not taught you to debase yourself, I have taught you to serve, and even when you kneel for a man other than myself it is with dignity and commitment to that great service.”

Gisquet struggled to meet his gaze, he looked everywhere but Casimir’s eyes as his fingers fumbled to fasten his trousers. His eyes were watering and he could not wipe them without Casimir noticing.

“Why are you crying?”

“Monsieur I--...it is a silly thing.”

“No, you must tell me.”

“That is the first time…” Gisquet paused and swallowed. “No one has ever touched me in such a way besides you.”

Casimir laughed openly and leaned down to plant a kiss on Gisquet’s forehead. “I knew I had chosen well. Did you enjoy it?”

“Only because I thought of you.”

“Tell me, did you think of me performing such an action?”

“No, most definitely not.”

Casimir smiled again. “Then all is well. Perhaps I shall let you enjoy such an act again, perhaps with your own pet to play with. Come now, I wish to employ your services in my own office away from this repulsive place.”

* * *

 

Casimir did not forget his promise to Gisquet of obtaining his own pet. It was many years later after Casimir had rapidly risen through government, straight through cabinet and unanimously obtaining the vote to earn the title of Monsieur le Premier. Gisquet had been working solidly in the bank gaining more prominence whilst others fell before he received a promotion many said he did not deserve. The former Prefects of Police had been older men, wise and learned, full of experience and political expertise. There was talk and gossip, even in the papers, that Gisquet was foolish, merely a puppet, not equipped for the task. Still, Casimir was Prime Minister and could bestow these titles on whomever he wished. For the task of running the Prefecture he chose Gisquet, and despite being an entirely political move Gisquet took it personally and thanked Casimir profusely for days on end.

“It is fitting for a man of your station to have a few charges of his own,” Casimir had told him at their first meeting in the new building. Gisquet was reluctant to clear out his desk at the bank when he realised he would not longer be so close to Casimir, but Casimir visited regularly in order to keep everything firmly under his thumb.

“I am not ready to let go of you yet, Monsieur,” Gisquet replied. He continuously fiddled with the things on the much grander desk before him, cut glass and gold, a moving in gift from Casimir.

“You would not have to, you would still be mine, but surely you would wish for a few young things around to service you when you most needed.”

Gisquet had agreed because Casimir made it seem as if he must and so Casimir had given him the chance to find something sweet of his own. In truth, Gisquet had no idea where to start, Casimir’s advice had been to be forceful yet discreet, and so it was a while before Gisquet summoned up the courage to approach anyone.

He was unsure how to go about it and all his advances had so far been unsuccessful. Casimir had laughed at his failure and told him that perhaps he should simply visit a brothel. Gisquet, not one for sarcasm, but always one for unquestioning obedience, had followed Casimir’s advice to the letter, and now found himself in a dingy boarded room sitting at a table opposite a brothel Madame.

“I’m not sure why I came. My apologies for wasting your time I think it’s best if I leave.”

As Gisquet was reaching for his purse the Madame had shot her hand out to cover it. She knew good business when she saw it and she was unwilling to part with it so quickly. She felt the coins beneath her fingers, picked up the purse and felt the weight, her brow furrowing and lips pinching tighter together.

“Wait here Monsieur, I think we have something for you.”

She rose, still clutching the purse, and Gisquet did not wish to cause upset by asking for it back although he resented the presumptuous nature of the woman. She moved to a door in the back and opened it, keeping her body pressed to the frame so that Gisquet would not be able to peer past. She slipped through, the door remaining open just a slight crack.

“Ernest! I have someone here for you!” Gisquet heard her call from behind the slatted wood. A few moments later a light groan escaped the crack in the door and then a man’s voice, young and delicate, called back.

“I’m not working tonight.”

Gisquet heard the chink of coins, and then: “Yes, you are. Make yourself presentable.”

She emerged a few moments later, the purse now out of sight and Gisquet did not think he would ever see it again, and she smiled at him revealing several missing teeth.

“Go through,” She instructed firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Second door on the left.”

Gisquet nodded warily and followed the command, pausing once he reached the door. He sighed, knowing he would soon have to report back to Casimir and reveal his failure, and knocked.

“Come in.” The voice sounded bored although there was some pretense of making it sound sultry and inviting. Gisquet entered, closing the door behind him, and beheld the man inside.

Ernest was perched on a divan, lying back lazily on a pile of cushions with a faded satin sheen. He was wearing an Eastern style robe that revealed more than it covered, the edges of the cuffs and hem were frayed and the swirling brocade patterns had faded as much as the cushions. With careful posture, Ernest ensured that any viewer would be gazing at where the robe slipped off his bare shoulder, revealing pale skin beside the dark shadow of a prominent collar bone, and the slither of a naked thigh where the hem rose up. Gisquet stared at all these things then at Ernest’s face. The boy was pretty, there was no other way to put it. His features were soft, his lips naturally pink and full, his cheek bones gentle and his eyebrows sculpted perfectly. This angelic face was framed by a cascade of blonde curls that fell down to his shoulders.

Gisquet stared for several moments, watching as Ernest licked his lips and blinked slowly, slipping his legs out from beneath him and crossing them in front. The action was slow and smooth, but incredibly seductive and Gisquet could feel his own cheeks growing hot. The one thing he would change about the boy’s appearance was the excess of powder and rouge on his cheeks. It allowed him to fit in with his surroundings, but in natural light it would ruin the whole cherubic effect. Gisquet almost wanted to lecture him the same way Casimir had about being careful of his skin and maintaining his youthful appearance for as long as possible.

“I wasn’t meant to be working tonight, looks like you got lucky.” Ernest took a cigarette case from the vanity and struck a match, balancing a single cigarette between his teeth and lighting it. He took a long drag then breathed out slowly. “Well?”

Gisquet had been staring with an emotion akin to awe. He watched as Ernest casually smoked a cigarette, tossing his hair over one shoulder and leaning a hand on the back of the divan. He made the process look elegant and beautiful, and Gisquet’s thoughts of interrupting with a similar lecture on certain vices that Casimir had once given him vanished as easily as the smoke Ernest blew away.

Ernest raised an eyebrow. “Well?” He asked again. “What do you want?”

“What do you mean?” Gisquet frowned, his eyes drawn to the curve of Ernest’s wrist.

“I do all the usual things, I prefer not to kiss, but you did pay extra so I promise not to bite if you do. Unless you’re into that in which case I do all that too. So, what do you want?”

“I want you to be my secretary,” Gisquet blurted out.

“Excuse me?”

Forceful, Gisquet thought, that was what Casimir had wanted him to be. Act with intent and purpose, be commanding, prove that you are the most powerful man in the room. Gisquet ran over all this in his head and he could imagine himself in this role now, especially with Ernest before him, a creature that he was suddenly so desperate to devour.

With a sudden motion he leaned forward and grasped Ernest by the shoulders, pressing his whole body against him, nudging his knee between the boy’s thighs and spreading them wider. The robe fell to one side revealing Ernest’s nakedness beneath and instantly he moved to cover himself, but Gisquet held tight to his arms preventing him from moving.

“Bed?” Gisquet asked breathlessly, his eyes raking over what bare skin of Ernest’s he could see, he could barely form the single word let alone a whole sentence. Ernest had dropped all his confidence and had sunk into Gisquet’s grip.

“Monsieur?”

“The bed!” Gisquet cried desperately. “Where’s the nearest bed?”

“Behind the curtain,” Ernest said quickly. Gisquet’s eyes were drawn to the organza hangings that he could now see covered a dark room beyond. He released Ernest from his grip and went to part them, revealing the bed within. It was covered in colourful satin pillows with intricate embroidered designs that had the same faded look as Ernest’s robe. Gisquet turned back to Ernest and grabbed him forcefully by the arm. Ernest didn’t protest as Gisquet shoved him through the curtains and threw him to the bed, tumbling on top of the sheets in a messy heap. Gisquet reached for Ernest’s ankle and yanked him harshly down the bed then reached for the ties that loosely held the robe together. He pulled at the knot then parted the robe to see Ernest’s naked body in full.

He paused for a moment as he took it in. The skin was so pale and smooth, delicate and paper-thin, and the boy’s frame was slender, almost feminine, coupled with the long blonde hair, blue eyes, pink cheeks, and red lips, he was quite a pretty sight. Gisquet breathed in through his teeth and let out a low whistle of appreciation. His eyes were also drawn to Ernest’s wrists which betrayed a few faded bruises and red marks, some of which also littered his neck and chest. His nails too had seen better days and the palms of his hands were rough not smooth, betraying the fact that he was no bourgeois. Gisquet didn’t care about that at all, he pulled Ernest’s robe off the rest of the way, and then allowed his hands to wander and explore the boy’s skin. He scraped his fingers down his chest and stroked his thighs, cupped his growing hardness and then slipped his palms up his waist, hungrily taking it all in. He was sure that he could spend a lifetime exploring Ernest’s pretty body, but he also knew that he didn’t have the time now.

He knelt on the edge of the bed and held tight to each of Ernest’s ankles, raising and spreading them so he was bare and vulnerable. He lifted them back and then rested them on each of his own shoulders. Ernest grasped the hint and curled his feet together round Gisquet’s neck, holding on tight, his arms spread loosely at his sides and his wrists carelessly curled.

Gisquet knocked over several bottles on the bedside table in his urgency as he grasped for a bottle of oil, carelessly upturning it and pouring most of the contents out onto his fingers.

“Monsieur please,” Ernest protested. “We have to pay for that ourselves.”

Gisquet coated his fingers and slipped one inside Ernest provoking a sweet gasp before adding a second and scissoring them furiously. The motion shut Ernest up pretty quickly and he was content to throw his head back and breathe rapidly.

“I’ll buy you a thousand bottles of this out of my own pocket,” He said, reaching for Ernest’s hips again and positioning his cock against Ernest’s entrance. “Hold still.”

Ernest didn’t need to be told twice. As Gisquet entered him he instinctively clenched, tightening his muscles until Gisquet moaned in pleasure and began to thrust. Ernest rocked his hips with him, arching his back so that Gisquet could reach the sweet spot inside him. He reached out desperately to grip the sheets and finally grasped the bedpost, holding tight for all he was worth as Gisquet thrust into him hard.

“God you’re beautiful,” Gisquet said breathlessly, his hands stroking up and down Ernest’s thighs.

“So I’ve been told,” Ernest replied through gritted teeth.

“None of them truly meant it as I do.” Gisquet began to thrust harder, rolling his hips into Ernest’s, pushing his legs back further and stretching him out across the bed. Ernest swore and reached out with his other hand to grasp the opposite bed post. “I mean it.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Gisquet pushed with his hips and let go of one of Ernest’s thighs to grasp his cock. He was familiar with how best to stroke it to ensure the most heightened reaction. He let Ernest tilt his hips and arch his back to thrust into his palm as much as he could before tightening his fist and stroking. Ernest let out a loud moan and bucked his hips into the touch in time with Gisquet’s own thrusts into him. It wasn’t long before he was spilling into Gisquet’s hand and over his stomach. Gisquet came shortly after, thrusting even as his whole body was trembling as the climax racked through him.

“Stay there,” He said moving back through the curtain to the room with the vanity. He returned with a towel that Ernest reached for, but Gisquet pulled away. “No, let me.”

With a great tenderness he cleaned the mess on Ernest’s thighs and stomach, then with a fresh side he wiped the sweet from Ernest’s brow.

“What’s your name?”

“Jules Ernest Nay, but everyone calls me Ernest.”

Gisquet sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Ernest’s face. He took it carefully in the palm of his hand then leaned in to kiss him softly on the lips. When he pulled back Ernest looked stunned.

“My name is Henri Joseph Gisquet, I am—”

Gisquet didn’t get a chance to finish. Ernest had pushed him back and was hurriedly slipping off the bed and reaching for his robe. “God, I’m so stupid,” He muttered under his breath before letting out a stream of curses. “The damn police!”

“No! No no stop!” Gisquet called after him, but Ernest had already brushed past the organza and was heading for the door. “Wait!”

“I’m such a fool,” Ernest was still muttering under his breath. “To think I almost—” He looked back at Gisquet and gave him a look so fierce that Gisquet was stopped for a moment in his pursuit. Ernest made it out of the room, down the corridor, and all the way to the stairs where he began shouting.

“Police!” He called, his hands cupped over his mouth. “The police are here!”

There was rapid movement from above, as people began stumbling out of room with clothes hastily gathered in their arms.

“Wait please! I’m not police! Well, I am, but—” Gisquet had reached for Ernest’s arm, but Ernest lashed back. “Don’t touch me!” He shrieked and Gisquet snapped his hand back.

“You could have just arrested me,” Ernest said. “You didn’t have to…” He paused as he breathed heavily searching for words that would mean something. “I’m the one who’ll get a fine I can’t afford or put in jail where I’ll probably, oh I don’t know, die! And you, you filthy pervert, disgusting—…policeman! You’ll get nothing even though you-…even though-…”

Gisquet reached for Ernest’s elbow and this time didn’t let Ernest shake him off. He pulled him closer, cupped his cheek, and leaned in to kiss him again.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Ernest bit down, catching the tip of his tongue between his teeth. Gisquet yelled and jumped backward, letting go of Ernest, just long enough so that he could run. When Gisquet had gained control of his senses Ernest had long since fled and even after he ran after him, bursting through the doors and glancing down the street, there was no sign of him.


	16. Chapter 16

“He was the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Was he really Henri? I wouldn’t know, it’s not as if you’ve told me a hundred times already.”

“You don’t understand André.”

Chabouillet sighed. “You didn’t exactly play it very smooth did you, announcing yourself like that. No wonder he ran.”

“And now he’s lost forever.”

“So dramatic, he’ll probably be picked up eventually, and then you can go and whisk him away from a police lineup.”

Gisquet shook his head emphatically. “No, nothing like that, he was pure.”

“Pure?”

“Yes, pure.”

“Ah yes, the pure whore from the whorehouse of purity.”

“Divinely pure,” Gisquet continued, completely unaffected, his eyes glazed. “He was so beautiful, his skin was as soft as—”

“Dear God!” Chabouillet cried out. “Don’t start with this nonsense again! I can’t stand it Henri, really I can’t, there are a thousand beautiful young men in Paris. Another will come along eventually, and besides, I stand by what I said before, he’ll likely be picked up soon enough.”

Chabouillet had an irritating habit of being right much to Gisquet’s chagrin. It was lucky that Gisquet had passed the post on his routine inspection before the inhabitants of the cells could be carted off to a more permanent location. He was surprised when he first saw Ernest behind the bars, sitting on the low bench, his knees drawn up to his chest. He was almost unrecognisable, his hair was matted and grimy, his face covered in dirt, his clothes ripped, although what material was left he was trying to desperately clutch against him. He was shivering, it was always cold in the cells, and his feet were bare.

“Someone get this boy a blanket, can’t you see he’s freezing to death?”

Considering it was the Prefect of Police making the demand it was fulfilled quickly. Gisquet moved to the bars and held the blanket through it, waiting for Ernest to rise and take it. Ernest glanced up, not quite able to make out Gisquet’s face in the dark lit only by a couple of single candles in their brackets. He snatched the blanket quickly then retreated to the far corner of the cell again.

“Why are you here?” He asked softly.

Ernest drew the blanket around himself. “Are you a lawyer?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not talking to you.”

Gisquet spoke quietly to one of the guards whose eyes widened in surprise, but nevertheless he unlocked the cell door. Ernest looked up uncertainly, even more surprised when he saw Gisquet enter the cell and then instruct the door to be locked behind him.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

Ernest stared intently at Gisquet, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, and when he finally worked out who it was he gaped. Gisquet stepped forward, his hands on show, not daring to come too close.

“What happened?”

“Why do you care?”

“Trust me, I just do, now tell me.”

“The place I was at closed down and moved after the scare you caused and they didn’t want to take me with them.” Ernest shrugged.

“Then what?”

“It’s every man’s right to earn a living.”

“So they found you on the street. Doing what?”

“Oh come on, you know exactly what.”

“What are they charging you with?”

“I’ll be lucky if I get two years.”

“You won’t survive two years in prison.”

Ernest bit his lip. “I’m tougher than I look.” The trouble was, in his current run down state, Ernest didn’t look like he could hold his own anywhere.

“You’re well-spoken, you never belonged in a place like that, how did you end up there?”

“Sure my family were aristocrats, but they were rotten, and they didn’t much like me.”

Gisquet nodded because he understood, but he’d been lucky. He’d been rescued by a benevolent man like Casimir Périer, and he was sure Ernest deserved the same. He moved back to the bars and spoke in a hushed tone to the guard for a few moments. Then the cell slid open. Ernest watched as Gisquet left, but the door remained swung back.

Gisquet sighed. “Come on.”

“What?”

“You’re coming with me.”

“So as Prefect you get to speed up the process is that right? Get me into prison before the morning?”

“Yes, something like that, now come along.”

Ernest stepped forward warily and followed Gisquet out to the clerk’s desk. Gisquet exchanged a few words and ended up with Ernest’s arrest papers in hand before requesting a carriage be called for him. He glanced down at Ernest for a moment, frowning. “Do you have anything else?”

“If I’m not wearing it I don’t have it.”

Gisquet shuffled Ernest into the carriage, ignoring the stains of dirt and grime he left on the velvet seat. “Well then,” Gisquet began. “I’ve done something for you, now you can do something for me.”

“And what exactly have you done for me?”

“I just performed a most daring prison escape, I skipped a few steps of course, but the consequence is the same. Here you are, I have your arrest papers, and you are free.”

“Why?”

“Because I want something from you. Can you read and write?”

Ernest snorted. “Of course I can read and write.”

“Very good, then you can be my secretary.”

“Your secretary,” Ernest said looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Anything else?”

“Not unless you want to.”

They arrived back at the Prefecture and Gisquet bundled Ernest out of the carriage still wrapped in his blanket and half dragged half carried him into the hall. “André!” He shouted, causing Chabouillet to stop on the other end of the corridor. “I’ve found him!”

Chabouillet stared at Gisquet and the strange dirty creature beside him. “Found who?”

“Look it’s him, it’s Ernest, oh come on you remember.”

“This is him? This is the most beautiful man in all of Paris?” Chabouillet raised an eyebrow and sighed, turning to continue down the corridor on his business. “Whatever makes you happy Henri.”


	17. Chapter 17

_"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,_  
_How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!_

 

* * *

 

“Fruit basket! I need a fruit basket! We have laid out a fruit basket for him every morning that he's been here. He will think me a bad host!”

“Henri Joseph Gisquet will you please lower your voice!” Chabouillet slammed a fist down on the desk forcing a pile of papers to jump a few inches into the air. “You don’t need a damn fruit basket.”

“He’ll think we are under prepared.”

“Why? Because we have no grapes? We’re the police, I don’t care if this diplomat is used to red carpets and caviar, I will not stand for any more of this pathetic grovelling.”

Gisquet’s lip looked like it was about to start trembling. Chabouillet noticed this with annoyance and let out a frustrated groan. “Look, I have some decent port in my cabinet, that shall have to do.”

“No, he will expect fruit before noon. I will send someone out.”

Gisquet was at the door before Chabouillet could stop him, leaning out and calling for the nearest secretary.

“Monsieur Pinel,” Gisquet greeted as the dark haired and doe eyed young man entered the room. “Collect your coat, I need you to run to the market for me.”

“For oil?”

“No, you presumptuous boy, of course I have plenty of oil in stock. We need fruit.”

“What Monsieur Gisquet means to say,” Chabouillet began with a saccharine smile. “Is that there is absolutely no necessity for fruit whatsoever, but he thinks that a bowl of berries can win him a political deal.”

“If Monsieur Gisquet thinks so then it must be true,” Pinel said in a small voice, bowing to both of them. The sarcasm was completely lost as it went over his innocent head.

Chabouillet sighed. “Very well, send him out on this fool’s errand, but I warn you Gisquet, you cannot buy a man with fruit. This place is far from Eden.”

As if on cue the devil himself entered the room in his usual practice of not knocking, that is to say, Casimir Périer graced Gisquet’s office with his presence.

“I heard you shouting from the hall. You have a most tiresome voice when you raise it Monsieur Gisquet, perhaps you will tell me why you are feeling so anguished?”

“May I be excused?” Chabouillet said quickly before he could be sucked into a conversation he knew he would regret.

“No, I do not think so.” Casimir’s mouth slipped into a disturbing sneer as he regarded Chabouillet. Then his attentions turned to Pinel. He gave the boy an appraising look, glancing up and down his nervous body, the boy easily being the shortest in the room.

“Monsieur Pinel, is that correct?”

“Yes Monsieur. Nicolas Pinel.”

“I have not heard that name about Paris.”

“My family is from Toulouse Monsieur, but I came here to Paris to make my fortune.”

“And have you made it?”

Pinel glanced at Gisquet who inclined his head slightly. Pinel took a sharp intake of breath and then stared back at Périer. “Yes, Monsieur, indeed.”

“Very good, although fortune’s can be improved upon. Do you have any business to attend to this evening?”

Chabouillet felt his hands clench into fists and his insides twisted. Under no circumstances would he send another innocent slam to Périer’s sacrificial alter.

“Actually Monsieur le Premier, Monsieur Pinel has urgent business with me this evening, and he will not be available until very early tomorrow morning.”

Casimir rounded on Chabouillet. “Is that so?”

“Yes, Monsieur. Incredibly urgent business, he shall be kept quite busy in my apartments.”

Casimir 's smirk turned into a dangerous flash of anger, but soon that slipped away and he resumed his pleasant facade. “Then I hope you both enjoy yourselves.”

He swept from the room before Gisquet could stop him and offer any of his other charges instead.

“You’re playing a dangerous game André,” He said with a warning look.

“I like a little danger, it keeps me on my toes. Now, Monsieur Pinel, I believe you have to go out and buy some fruit.”

Nicolas nodded quickly and darted from the room.

“Henri, I need to make a request of you.”

“Will it be taxing?”

“Slightly. I know this may sound paranoid, but I’m sure I really do recognise Señor Delgado from somewhere.”

“From where?”

“The army perhaps. I was stationed in Spain for a while with-…well, that doesn’t matter for now. Would you do some digging for me?”

“It’s more than my job’s worth.”

“Please. For me. I’ll make it up to you.”

Gisquet sighed. “Fine, but I’m not trying too hard.”

* * *

 

Nicolas made it to the market without too much hassle and started to select fruit. He picked fruits with pretty colours paying little heed to how good the prices were. Gisquet would always reimburse him no matter what. He came to the corner of a stand when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He glanced up and recognised instantly the familiar face of Señor Aguinaldo, one of Señor Delgado’s handsome secretaries.

“Monsieur Pinel, yes?”

Nicolas hesitated for a moment. “Yes, but, I thought you didn’t speak French?”

“Who told you that?”

“I can’t remember.”

Aguinaldo laughed and took the basket from Nicolas’s hands, avoiding all protests as he proceeded to move away from the main market stalls and down a side street. “Here, let me help you, you must be tired from all the pushing and shoving from that Monsieur Gisquet.”

“No Monsieur—I mean, Señor, Monsieur Gisquet is very kind.”

“Señor Delgado has put us up in lodgings just down here, please, follow me.”

With a firm hand on his back, Nicolas could not fight Aguinaldo’s firm approach, and so he found himself forcefully guided further and further away from the busy bustling streets.

 


	18. Chapter 18

_I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,_  
_If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."_

* * *

 

  
Nicolas had difficulty noticing if things were wrong at the best of times, and so it wasn’t until he was well and truly trapped that he realised he was in danger. Aguinaldo’s smile had vanished completely, as had his charming disposition. The lodgings he had brought Nicolas to were decidedly run down, torn curtains surrounded a boarded up window and the single bed was in a rusted metal frame.

“Señor, you were most kind to invite me up here, but I think I must be going now,” Nicolas said in his most polite voice.

“It is too late for that don’t you think?”

“Really, I think it would be best if I leave.”

Aguinaldo turned a key in the lock and stood before the door blocking the entrance. “This is how everything is going to work. You have something I want, something we want, and I have no qualms in torturing you for it, so why don’t you help me out and tell me first.”

“Señor!” Nicolas’s voice had diminished into a terrified squeak. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The time for games is over.”

* * *

 

“There’s a woman screaming quite violently in my office,” Gisquet said calmly as Chabouillet entered the Prefecture that morning. “Something seems to have shocked her to her fair core.”

“Is that so?” Chabouillet hadn’t even removed his outer coat and was doing so now, just as Gisquet hovered nervously about him. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“I don’t think it’s my department.”

“You’re the Prefect of Police, all the departments are your departments.”

Gisquet smiled a little at this. “It sounds pleasant when you put it like that, but really I am not equipped to deal with screaming women. My wife never screams at me, in fact I don't believe she's ever screamed at all.”

"I wouldn't know."

"Perhaps Marie then," Gisquet said with a small smile. "You must enquire. Regardless, I am not equipped to deal with screaming women, not at all."

“And you think I am?”

“I would think you’re equipped to deal with most things.”

Chabouillet sighed. “Very well, although send a secretary along when you can, I imagine they’d be better at providing actual comfort.”

“Of course, an excellent idea, if nothing else they can provide the tea. Any preference?”

“Monsieur Pinel has a calming presence.”

“Indeed, I will send Nicolas along.”

Chabouillet raised an eyebrow, but Gisquet seemed not to have noticed his slip into the familiar first name. He made his way to Gisquet’s office, took a deep breath, and then pushed the door.

The woman inside turned on him, flying towards him in an alarmingly desperate manner. Her eyes were wide and full of torment.

“Madame, I have heard you are in some distress.”

“Who are you?” She rounded on him suspiciously.

“Monsieur Chabouillet, Secretaire to the Prefect, at your service.”

“He is still there! My business is surely ruined! They will think my food is contaminated, and we built it up from nothing.”

“Please, Madame, do start at the beginning and allow me to help you.”

She sucked in a breath so hard it sounded painful. “A body right in the street, right in the doorway of my inn.”

“A body?”

“Naked Monsieur! Covered in---...Well, heaven knows it is not polite or pure to say.”

Chabouillet sighed. Instantly it sounded to him like a business deal gone wrong, the kind of business deal where the commodity being traded was sex. It was a shame to see so many young people, mostly women but occasionally men such as this, dead on the streets. Such was the life of a police officer, it was far too commonplace, the most frequent of crimes.

Chabouillet propped open the door and called for a passing officer. “Send some men. You should find a body besides the inn, you know what to do.”  
Chabouillet turned back to the woman. “What is your name Madame?”

“Borlout, Monsieur. The name of our lodgings, I kept the name after my husband passed you see, it helped with the business, but now I suppose all that is ruined.”

“We will do all we can Madame Borlout.”

“That is what the police always say.”

Chabouillet offered the woman a chair, but she declined saying she preferred to stand. He then offered her tea which she also denied, and at this point Chabouillet was at a loss as to where he should direct the conversation. Several minutes passed and he was beginning to wonder if Gisquet was going to send Nicolas when there was an urgent rap on the door. Chabouillet answered it to find the gendarme responsible for collecting the body. He made his excuses to Madame Borlout and joined him out in the corridor.

“Well?” He asked expectantly. “Prostitute is it? Can’t say I’m surprised, but it isn’t the best for our patch, I take it he is on the way to the morgue?”

The officer looked considerably uncomfortable. Chabouillet was not surprised at this either if the gendarmes had had to carry the body away in the undignified state Madame Borlout had described.

“No, Monsieur, he wasn’t dead.”

“Oh? He lives to see another day, and hopefully a change of heart and a career change along with it. Hospital then?”

“No Monsieur, and he wasn’t a prostitute.”

Chabouillet was already growing tired of the case. They would likely never find the perpetrator unless another similar crime was committed and it would be best for all if one wasn’t.

“How could you tell?”

“Monsieur le Secretaire, I think you should come to your office.”

“Why?”

“That’s where we took him.”

“What on earth for?” Chabouillet groaned. “He better be the heir to the throne or I’m docking your wages for this inconvenience.”

“Monsieur, if you would please just come.”

Chabouillet sighed loudly in what he hoped was visible annoyance and followed the officer to his own office. There was a small crowd hovering outside all with noticeably worried frowns.

“Clear off, all of you!” Chabouillet called to them with a wave of his hand. “My office is not a zoo, I’m sure you’ve all seen a dead or dying prostitute in your careers, now back to work!”

“Monsieur!” The officer who had brought him began to protest, but Chabouillet waved him away too. He pushed open the door and regarded the scene within. The room had been cleared, the canapé taking pride of place. Jules was bent over one end, a wet cloth in his hand, using it to cool the forehead of the unconscious man lying on the canapé. Someone had taken the liberty of covering his modesty with a white sheet. A physician was busying himself at Chabouillet’s desk, taking out a number of vials. Chabouillet noticed that it was Gisquet’s own private physician, expensive and thorough. Chabouillet frowned.

He turned back to the canapé, saw first Jules’s cheeks wet with tears that continued to stream, then saw the perfectly pale innocent face that rested on the pillow framed with delicate dark curls. He swallowed hard.

“Has Monsieur Gisquet been informed?”

“No Monsieur,” The officer said. “We thought it best to leave it to you.”

“Very well, have the woman in Gisquet’s office questioned and then cleared out of the building. He won’t want that kind of hysterics at the moment.”

Chabouillet gave Jules’s anguished face a last glance then swept from the room. He was accosted by Gisquet in the hallway, the man’s face adorned with a cheery smile.

“Well? Dead bodies in the streets, we haven’t had a case with such excitement in a long time, you must let me get involved.”

“Henri, my office. Now.”

“Can it wait?” Gisquet smirked knowingly. “It’s a little early in the morning.”

“It cannot wait.”

“A bit eager now, aren’t we?”

“Henri! Stop it!”

The smile slipped from Gisquet’s face and he regarded Chabouillet curiously. “What’s the matter?”

Chabouillet was silent. He cast his eyes downward and shifted, then glanced back to the office he had just left.

“André? Answer me, what’s the matter?”

“It’s Nicolas,” Chabouillet said finally. “The body. It was Pinel’s.”


	19. Chapter 19

Gisquet was in a state for the rest of the day. He sobbed persistently into Chabouillet’s shoulder for a good hour at least, and then spent another hour crying over Nicolas’s unconscious body. Later in the afternoon Señor Delgado came to pay his respects, he asked with a careful voice whether Nicolas was up to talking yet, and offered his condolences when he discovered that he wasn’t.

Casimir visited after that. He stood by Gisquet’s side waiting patiently as everything was poured out to him, offering a surprising amount of patience.

“You have two left over,” He said eventually. “In fact, where are they?”

Gisquet sniffed. “Monsieur Devaux is sitting with Nicolas— I mean Monsieur Pinel.”

“And Monsieur Nay?”

“I’m not sure, I can fetch him.”

Gisquet instructed a message to be relayed to a passing clerk and a short while later Ernest emerged. He saw Casimir first and instantly the colour drained from his face.

“Monsieur Nay, what a pleasure it is to see you so well.”

There was still an obvious bruise on Ernest’s jawline, only just beginning to fade, and he looked very pale indeed.

“Monsieur Périer.” Ernest bowed following his greeting.

“What have you been doing today, Monsieur Nay?”

“Not much,” Ernest said, his voice shaking. “Reading mostly.”

“Reading? Is that so?” Casimir raised an eyebrow and turned to Gisquet. “You let your charges read while they are on duty? Did I ever let you read when you were under my charge at the bank?”

“No,” Gisquet said quickly. “Well, yes I do, but, no you didn’t and—”

“Silence! Monsieur Nay, do you think reading is a suitable pursuit for a secretary?”

“No Monsieur.”

“Is it in your job description?”

“No Monsieur.”

“So you admit you have not been doing your job?”

Ernest held his breath for a moment, glancing at Gisquet for help. “No Monsieur.”

“Monsieur Gisquet?” Casimir said, clicking his fingers in front of Gisquet’s face to get his attention. “Fire this boy.”

There was silence for a long moment. “Did you not hear me Monsieur Gisquet? I told you to fire him.”

“I—Monsieur Périer, surely…”

“Now.”

“I can’t do that Monsieur Périer.”

Casimir stepped forward until he was standing very close to Gisquet, his breath predatory and warm on his neck. “You will fire him, or so help me God, I will make sure that you don’t even have a body to cry over this time.”

Gisquet barely had time to process these words before he turned to Ernest, his hands were shaking, Ernest was beginning to cry, his lip trembling, and he shook his head furiously as he began to murmur desperately under his breath.

“Ernest, I’m-… I’m so sorry. I can’t lose you, I must—…I can’t—…”

“No Monsieur Gisquet, please, don’t just get rid of me.”

Casimir tapped the head of his cane. “I am losing patience Henri.”

“Ernest, go clear your things from your desk, you no longer have a position at the Prefecture.”

Ernest stood for a moment with his mouth and eyes wide, before he darted from the room, his tears falling fast.


	20. Chapter 20

_"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you 're pleased to say,_   
_And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."_

* * *

 

Chabouillet found himself on the first floor of his wife’s bookshop earlier in the day that he expected. He was sure that if he’d been in the room he could have stopped proceedings fairly easily but as it happened he had been too late. Ernest had disappeared before anyone could find him, so Chabouillet had come to Marie to unload his troubles instead.

“I wish there was something I could do for him.”

“Perhaps there is something.”

Marie smiled at her husband and gently pressed his arm. She rose, collecting her skirts and took the pile of books from the small table, arranging them under her arm and disappearing behind a shelf.

Chabouillet frowned and watched her as she rounded the shelf. He raised a hand to his face and pressed his palm carefully into his eyes and let out a deep breath.

“André, I expected you to follow.”

Never one to disappoint his wife, Chabouillet rose and obliged her summons, rounding the shelf to meet her on the other side. She was busy stacking the pile of books under her arm in their rightful places on the shelf.

“My dear, can I help you with that?”

“I can manage perfectly well.”

Chabouillet opened his mouth, but the expression on Marie’s face suggested that his protests would fall on deaf ears. Instead he waited for her to finish her task. Once she was done she turned on her heel without a word and began to descend the stairs that led to the lower levels of the shop. The stairs were old and creaked, but they had been well varnished, and Marie would never allow damp anywhere on her premises.

She slipped between two book shelves that were pressed close together back to back and then rounded a free standing stack of penny pamphlets.

“If we head home soon we can walk in the sunlight rather than take a carriage, and then we might--”

Marie turned quickly and pressed a palm across his mouth to stop his words. She gave him a meaningful glance then slowly took her hand away from his lips. “He was quite out of sorts when he arrived, truly a mess, and I only just managed to calm him down right before you arrived. He was sleeping soundly when I came upstairs.”

“What are you talking about?” Chabouillet hissed, respecting his wife by keeping his voice low, but suspicious all the same. “Who arrived?”

Marie sighed and took Chabouillet’s hand in her own. She squeezed it lightly then guided him around a shelf. In the corner was an old two seater with a faded covering, flowers in dusty shades of pink, the upholstery worn but still appropriate to have on display for customers to rest whilst they browsed the books.

Comfortably tucked up beneath two blankets lay Ernest, his blonde curls fallen loose from their ribbon, his brow creased as if in desperate thought, but his visage otherwise calm. Chabouillet rounded on Marie instantly.

“He can’t stay here.”

“Keep your voice down.” She looked just as calm as the sleeping secretary, unfased by Chabouillet’s insistent tone.

“No, you don’t understand the risk.”

“I can handle myself thank you very much André.”

Chabouillet couldn’t help the pitiful groan that escaped his lips. He extended his hands towards Marie’s and held tight to her wrists, seizing her with a desperation. “It is far more dangerous than you can possibly imagine.”

“Is that so?” Marie smiled a little and carefully extracted her hands from Chabouillet’s grip. She lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and stroked the crease of his coat with clear affection. “You have not noticed all the facts that are before you, it is quite a simple case really, perhaps you should resign from the police.”

“We are not playing a game here, the potential for harm is so very real, can you not understand that?”

“It was mere moments earlier that you expressed a wish to help him, and now you fear too much for your own life to grant a poor scared child some much needed sanctuary.”

Chabouillet glanced back at Ernest. He looked so small, his entire body curled beneath him, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped tightly about himself. His expression was one of anguish and no doubt the boy was dreaming of recent horrors. He found himself almost moved by his plight. Eventually he sighed and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Marie please listen to me and understand. It is far too dangerous, more so than you could ever know.”

“Monsieur Nay is a sweet boy really, I have grown rather fond of him. He comes in here once a week with the remnants of his paycheck, already a brutally small number, and practically buys out half the section I keep hidden away downstairs.”

Chabouillet’s eyes looked pleadingly towards her, his hands had curled into worried fists and he almost dared to reach out and take Marie’s hands in his own again. She remained distinctly harmonious and serene.

“It has been quite a pleasure. He is witty too, occasionally he is provocative, sometimes outrageously amorous, I understand why your Monsieur Gisquet has kept him around so long. But beneath that humour and coy frivolity is a man who is scared and you failed to notice it.”

“If you mean to lecture me--”

"I do not. You think I do not know the truth, perhaps because I cannot handle it or maybe I am simply ignorant, but I am not. I know who Casimir Périer is, of course I do, the whole of France knows his name, but I know him differently. I know him through the eyes of that man there.” She gestured to Ernest, then raised her gaze back to Chabouillet. She let out a swift breath of preparation. “I know the threat he poses, I have known for quite some time. It has caused me deep concern to see you return to your place of work knowing the power he holds over your head, of the heads of your friends too, friends who have wives I am also fond of.”

“I try my best not to let any harm come to them.”

“You have failed.” Marie let her palm approach Chabouillet’s face. She cupped his cheek and stroked her thumb in a soothing motion, willing him to see and understand what she knew. “Monsieur Nay is not a good secretary, that was obvious from the first day I met him, and knowing you so well my dear André it was not hard to ascertain the meaning of his presence in the Prefecture. He is wildly inappropriate and will let his mouth run for hours unless I stop him, but in many ways I am glad he did because I learned of all the ways he has been wronged. Really he is alarmingly casual about his monstrous treatment. There are wounds he has sustained from our esteemed Prime Minister that were unable to be hidden and I imagine there were much worse tucked away beneath his clothes. I am aware of the risks, I choose to do this anyway, I think it is the right thing to do. I would appreciate your support and I imagine he would be overjoyed to find you are his ally, for he has spoken at great length on how much he admires you, but whether you are with me or not I will do this.”

Chabouillet was silent for a very long time. He was entirely unsure as to what he should say that could possibly dissuade Marie from her task. She was clearly set in her desires and Chabouillet failed to breach his wife’s consciousness at the best of times.

“You are sure I cannot persuade you otherwise?”

“I would be insulted if you tried.”

“Very well, but he cannot stay here.”

“Of course not, he cannot sleep amidst books. He shall take our spare room.”

“That is one of the first places Périer will look for him.”

“Will he be looking for him at all? As I understand it he decreed he be cast out onto the streets with his privileges stripped from him. Does he care enough to follow through?”

“Casimir Périer does not untie his puppets from their strings and let them go, he cuts their strings so that they may never walk again.”

“You think this is but the start of something more severe? He means to do him greater harm and is merely putting him in such a position where he mightn’t ask for help, yes, that does seem more like him.”

“You’ve never even met the man how could you possibly know!”

“You underestimate my judgements. We will take him home with us tonight and think of the future tomorrow.”

“Monsieur Chabouillet!”

Marie and Chabouillet both started at the high-pitched cry of terror that came from the bundle of blankets in the corner. Ernest was trying his best to extract himself from the tangle, and was failing quite drastically. His eyes widened as he stared between Chabouillet and Marie, and before either could stop him his lip began to tremble and his eyes to water.

“Monsieur Chabouillet, how did you find me so quickly? Do you mean to take me to him? Please do not! I beg of you! I would not survive it I am sure, he was so angry, that face was so cold; why those eyes Monsieur! He means to kill me. It is revenge on Monsieur Gisquet! Or perhaps it is his hatred of me, it has grown into something dreadful!”

“Calm yourself at once Monsieur Nay! This pathetic babbling will not stand, now pull yourself together.” He turned to Marie and addressed her. “Why is he so surprised to see me here?”

Marie shrugged. “I never thought it important to mention our relationship, in fact I often wondered if it might hinder the freely given information.”

“I was not aware you had become a police spy.”

“Perhaps in another life.”

Chabouillet ignored the mischievous smile that spread across her face and turned to Ernest who had now managed to part with the blankets and was rapidly brushing his hair back and trying to get it into the neat ribbon once more.

“Stop fussing,” Chabouillet commanded and Ernest’s hands fell to his sides instantly. “I hear you have become closely acquainted with this woman, allow me to formally introduce you both. Monsieur Nay, this is my wife, Marie Sophie Pagnest, and Marie, this is my colleague from work, Jules Ernest Nay.”

Ernest stared at Chabouillet, his mouth fell open. He looked to Marie for confirmation and she nodded with a smile. Ernest quickly regained his senses and bowed low, sweeping his hand behind his back with the utmost politeness. “Madame, my most humble apologies, had I known who you were I would not have been so forward.”

“Don’t be silly Ernest, I am still Marie to you.”

“First name terms!” Chabouillet threw his hands up in exasperation. “Is nothing sacred?”

“Please forgive me Monsieur Chabouillet. Also you are far too kind, I am not your work colleague, I am merely a secretary.” Ernest looked on the verge of tears again. “But Monsieur forgive me once again, for I am not even your work colleague at all now!”

Marie gave Chabouillet a harsh look and moved towards Ernest, gathering him up in her arms and allowing him to rest his sobbing head on her shoulder. Chabouillet looked at the pair of them, vexed beyond belief.

“This is too much.”

“Perhaps if you had only paid attention this would not come as such a surprise,” Marie said lightly. Her hand was running through Ernest’s curls and she clicked her tongue. “Ernest told me that you inspected several of his books, and not only called them filthy, but neglected entirely to look at the inside cover.”

“I should hope you do not stamp your name on such books, I would not like them to be traced back to you.”

“Of course it is not the name displayed on this very shop front, but the buyers of such books are discrete and have their circles, they would have found their way to me if they so desired. The hidden meaning of such a stamp surely would not have escaped your understanding, though the evidence of your ignorance does continue to pile so perhaps it would.”

“Please do not argue with Monsieur Chabouillet, he has been so good to me. He saved my life, he saved the life of my friends too.”

“My dear Ernest, if you think this is arguing you are much mistaken. My husband is fully aware of his numerous faults compared to my clean slate and he does not mind so much that I point them out occasionally. Now then, there is no need to be upset, you’re safe with us.”

* * *

 

“Come have dinner with us, my wife and I.”

“Really, André, my mind is far too full at the present time.”

Chabouillet took in Gisquet’s slightly slumped form, the limp hair that hung over his forehead, the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“No, I insist you come. Tomorrow evening, be at my house for five.”

“Five?”

“Yes, five.”

Gisquet attempted a small smile. “That is awfully early for a fashionable dinner these days.”

“Oh we will be dining at seven as usual, but I wish for you to arrive at five. Do so and I promise I will ease your mind far better than any other medicine that quack of yours can offer.”

* * *

 

  
“The good candles are in the chest on the upstairs landing.”

“Thank you Marie.” He kissed her on the top of her head and she absently shook him off.

“Try not to make too much of a mess please André,” She said, calmly turning a page of her book.

* * *

 

“I’d never let him get within a hundred feet of this house, you're quite safe.” Chabouillet ran a finger over the rope that encircled Gisquet’s wrists. “Trust me.”

“Only a fool would trust you.”

Chabouillet smiled and pushed Gisquet back onto the bed , quickly straddling his chest with his knees on either side. He took hold of the tail end of the rope and pulled, fastening it to the bedstead. A change overcame Gisquet instantly, it seemed that being restrained sent a wave of calm through him, and he rested back against the pillows. He tugged at the knots, finding himself well tied and securely fastened.

“And yet,” Chabouillet said, his hands running down Gisquet’s chest before pressing into his thighs. “You trust him.”

“It's different.”

Chabouillet pressed his fingertips into the smooth skin of Gisquet’s inner thigh provoking a shiver. He ran his palm down his leg until he reached Gisquet’s ankle which he grasped firmly and pulled to the side of the bed. He tied a secure knot, then turned to the other ankle, spreading it in turn and tying it in place.

“Now that you're completely at my mercy why don't you reevaluate your feelings of trust?”

“I've already told you, it's different.”

Chabouillet dug a finger into Gisquet’s ribs which caused the man beneath him to squirm away and gasp with an intake of breath.

“How so?”

“I trust him with my life because I know he won't ever kill me.”

“But he'd almost kill you, put you to the brink of death, and that's fine?”

Gisquet sighed and tested the ropes and his ankles. Chabouillet was letting his hands wander over Gisquet’s hips and thighs, groping and fondling gently in equal measure.

“I know where I stand with him and that's safety enough.”

Chabouillet traced a finger ever so delicately round Gisquet’s crotch, circling it closer and closer to his cock which twitched in excitement as he drew near.

“You’re like a man who love the ocean so much he’d be content to drown in it. I think he means to do you harm.”

Gisquet’s eyes flickered to the candles that rested on the bedside table. The flames cast a light glow around the room, flickering softly, the wax beginning to pool at the base. His gaze slid to the cane propped next to the bed and then the metal bowl of ice.

“You're a fine one to talk, you fully intend to do me harm, and you're not even making a pretense about it.”

Chabouillet followed Gisquet’s gaze to see what had absorbed his attention. He waved a hand and scoffed. “It's hardly grievous bodily harm, regardless, I intend to make you enjoy it.”

“You see, this is where you think you have the moral high ground, the upper hand if you will, but Monsieur Périer says remarkably similar things. Pleasure can only be sought alongside pain, and pain is just as pleasurable, he tells me all the time how much I should appreciate and enjoy the pain. In fact--” Gisquet’s outpouring was stoppered by a high-pitched squeak and then an intense struggle that was futile as Chabouillet’s hand was gripped firmly around his cock.

“Firstly, I've asked you very nicely not to mention his name in my presence, in this house at the very least. Secondly, the way you talk about him is quite insufferable.”

Chabouillet considered for a moment, squeezed his fist ever so slightly then let go. Gisquet let out a breath he'd been holding then continued to pant.

“It's delusional,” Chabouillet continued, extending his hand towards Gisquet’s cock once more. Gisquet let out a whimper that caught Chabouillet off guard for a moment. He let his hand rest gently on Gisquet’s thigh for a moment, his fingertips brushing ever so gently against Gisquet’s length, stroking softly, barely teasing. “When was the last time he touched you?”

Gisquet had closed his eyes and arched his hips up slightly, his back forming a smooth curve, and in desperation he suddenly bucked his hips. Chabouillet drew his hand away and Gisquet’s hips only raised higher and he let out a soft moan.

“Try to pretend you don’t want it as much.” Chabouillet ghosted his hand back over Gisquet’s cock and watched it flush and twitch beneath him. “You’re beginning to look a little pathetic.”

“You ask impossible things of me,” Gisquet said through gritted teeth.

“I’m sure he asks for more.”

“Oh indeed, much more.”

Chabouillet rose and climbed off the bed, making for the bedside table where his instruments were prepared. He took up the cane in his hand, circling his fingers round the wood, feeling the smooth varnished texture and then sliding his palm up to the metal handle. He smiled at the handiwork, it had been an expensive but worthwhile purchase, and to install the slim sword within had emptied his purse a little more. Still, he would be nowhere without it, and when he begrudgingly went to meetings with Casimir Périer he had it tucked by his side and safely in his grasp.

Chabouillet took up one of the lit candles and held it carefully over Gisquet’s thighs. He gave Gisquet a brief look of warning then tilted the candle so that the white wax dripped in a steady stream over Gisquet’s thighs. Gisquet winced and hissed as the hot wax touched him and he writhed helplessly in the bonds. Chabouillet smiled and continued the train of wax down Gisquet’s leg before holding it above the sole of his foot.

“No no please,” Gisquet whined. “That’s too much.”

Chabouillet tapped Gisquet’s thigh in encouragement then dripped the wax over the sole of his foot just as Gisquet let out a whimper of pain. Chabouillet leaned forward and grasped Gisquet’s cock again, squeezing tighter than before. He straddled Gisquet’s chest and sat down, taking the candle up again and holding it up. With expert precision he tilted letting the stream of wax hit Gisquet directly over one nipple, and then moving to hit the other. Gisquet yelped this time and attempted to struggle, but Chabouillet had been pinned down nicely and the ropes round his wrists were not going to give.

“Too much?” Chabouillet asked.

“Yes,” Gisquet breathed. “But don’t stop.”

Chabouillet put down the candle. “Close your eyes.”

Gisquet obeyed and suddenly felt Chabouillet’s fingers pressing against his mouth. He parted his lips instinctively and allowed Chabouillet to slide his fingers inside and then he set to work sucking them in earnest. Chabouillet withdrew his hand for a moment and when Gisquet felt its presence before him again he opened his mouth expectantly, just as Chabouillet dropped an ice cube inside. Gisquet coughed and spat it out. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you know what’s coming,” Chabouillet said simply, sliding off Gisquet’s chest. Gisquet heart the clink of ice in the metal bowl and opened his eyes. “No,” Chabouillet said firmly. “Close them. I don’t want to blindfold you, I want to see if you can do it on your own.”

Gisquet frowned and closed his eyes, only to open his mouth and shriek in surprise as Chabouillet pressed an ice cube to his inner thigh. Chabouillet held it still for a few moments before sliding it along towards Gisquet’s cock.

“No no no!”

Chabouillet paid no attention to the struggles or the protests as he slid the ice cube further up Gisquet’s thigh, across his balls, and then down his length. He held it for a brief moment that felt like an agonising forever over the tip of Gisquet’s cock as Gisquet screamed.

“Too much?”

“Yes!” Gisquet bucked his hips.

“You didn’t want me to stop last time.”

“But I do this time, Jesus Christ André!”

Chabouillet dropped the ice cube back in the bowl. He leaned forward until Gisquet’s cock was pressed to his lips and then he opened his mouth, taking in the full length and swallowing. The sudden warmth alarmed Gisquet just as much and he bucked his hips. Chabouillet withdrew.

“I said don’t stop!” Gisquet called out.

“Well that’s simply not true.”

Gisquet let out a groan of frustration and arched his hips some more as if he could entice Chabouillet back on his cock that way. “André! Damn you to hell!”

“Only if you join me.” Chabouillet leaned forward again and took Gisquet back in his mouth, swallowing slowly and then beginning to suck, running his tongue along the underside of Gisquet’s length. Gisquet writhed and bucked his hips desperately, shrieking as Chabouillet suddenly pressed a cold hand to his thigh. It wasn’t long before he was tripping into his climax and Chabouillet kept him in his mouth and gripped tight to his hips as he came. When Gisquet was finished and resting back against the sheets, his entire body loose and limp, Chabouillet began to untie the ropes.

“Feeling better?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“More relaxed?”

“You’re a miracle worker André.”

Chabouillet laughed and helped Gisquet rub some life back into his wrists. “Glad to hear it, now when you’ve got yourself cleaned up and dressed you can come down to dinner, there’s someone downstairs who’s been very excited to see you.”


	21. Chapter 21

_The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,_  
_For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:_

* * *

 

The barracks was hot and overcrowded, it smelt of hundreds of soldiers pressed together in close proximity who had been wearing the same uniforms for days. There was little space to move, the long standing members of the army were bored and showed it, they wanted to attack although there hadn’t been movement for days. The drafted soldiers were less keen to do anything, but still they were restless after being cooped up for days on end.

Chabouillet did not like inspecting the barracks. He had to suffer the weary glances of men who appeared bored, but Chabouillet had seen them drive a bayonet between the ribs of the enemy like the best of them. It was this duality that unnerved him and it was why he did not like to spend time away from the airy tents that littered their field, reserved for the officers and the field hospital. He would suffer it as it was his duty, but he would derive no satisfaction in seeing how haphazard their forces were between charges.

He rounded a corner, noting the rotting wood that hadn’t quite spread to the beam, and beheld a scene involving several men sitting on upturned crates with a makeshift table in the middle. There was an old and yellowing pack of cards sitting in the centre with a few hands dealt off and another line of cards upturned, there were a number of copper reals and a fair few silver ones as well. Some men were standing away from the table to observe and Chabouillet leaned against the not quite rotting support beam to watch with them.

A number of dull hands were played with most of the players folding within a few seconds of receiving their cards, but then things picked up. Two large silver coins were placed down on the table with force, the soldier in question smirking broadly at his bet, his poker face was extraordinarily weak. This did not seem to deter the young man next to him who was innocently staring at his own hand, brow furrowed in thought, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth. He hummed to himself as he considered his play. Chabouillet could see the first better’s hand from his angle and knew that if this young man placed down coins then he would surely lose. Yet after a few moments the young soldier took two coins from his pile and matched the bet, beaming all the way he wasn’t fazed by the look of satisfaction on his opponent’s face. The last cards were revealed and the first soldier predictably took the pot with his straight that put the young man’s two of a kind to great shame.

“You in for another, Francois?” The soldier winked at him and then grinned to his companions. Francois nodded eagerly and was already reaching into his pocket to replenish his coins, but Chabouillet stepped forward to interrupt.

“Okay, that’s enough now. Francois, come with me now please.”

Francois’s head snapped up, his blonde curls that were far too long for regulation fluttering at the sudden movement. He stared for a few moments before blurting out; “André! I was just learning to play poker.”

“Is that so? Come on now, this is no place for you, and it’s Captain Chabouillet unless you want me to report you to your commanding officer for insolence.”

The soldiers perched around the crates were sniggering at he exchange and one leaned across to mutter something to his friend, earning a laugh in response. Francois had flushed bright red and watched as the cards were dealt again around him, leaving the space on the crate in front of him bare. His expression turned from embarrassment to petulant annoyance.

“Lieutenant Chabouillet! With me, now! Don’t make me ask you again.”

Francois kicked the crate out behind him as he stood, raising his head and walking towards Chabouillet, then moving straight past him without a glance and carrying on out into the fresh air. Outside he leaned against the boarded doors to the barracks, his arms folded before him, pouting in irritation, as if they were having a sibling spat in their home back in the Marais instead of a battlefield in Seville.

“Why did you have to undermine me like that? I was making friends and you had to come along and ruin it.”

Chabouillet grimaced and took hold of Francois’s shoulder, pulling him away from the door and towards the makeshift dirt path that led back to the officer’s tents. “Those men weren’t your friends, they were clearing you out, and you weren’t exactly making it difficult for them.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I watched you play, you were terrible,” Chabouillet said in a matter of act voice that suggested this line of argument had reached its end. “And even if you were the world’s best poker player the communal barracks is no place for an officer, especially not when my reputation is also on the line.”

“Oh yes the great Captain Chabouillet, can’t have anything staining your chances of becoming Chef de Bataillon, not even a tiny game of poker.”

Chabouillet sighed. “It’s the principle of the thing, and besides, if I can rise to Major then you’ll probably make Captain.”

“But there’s no point in that is there? There’s nothing exciting about being Captain Chabouillet, because there’s already been one, and even worse, it’s you.”

Chabouillet flashed a glance at his younger brother fully expecting to scold him, but Francois’s brow was contorted into such an intense and serious line that all Chabouillet could do was laugh. He leaned over and ruffled Francois’s hair, which provoked an instant response as he darted away from the hand.

“See? You’re always trying to undermine me. They’ll never respect me as an officer if you keep trying to protect me.”

“Good, then maybe you’ll leave the army and go home and do something worthwhile with your life.”

“Just a minute ago you were telling me how I was going to make Captain, make your mind up.”

“You’ll get yourself killed.”

“You’re taking the same risk.”

“I’m better at this than you. You swing a bayonet like a bread knife.”

“I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Well, you didn’t rise to that rank, it was handed to you on a plate thanks to father’s money.”

“I could very well say the same thing about you and your title.”

“Enough of this.” Chabouillet stopped before one of the tents and pulled back the curtain. “At least pretend to be an officer for once, or better yet don’t, just keep your mouth shut during this meeting. It’s just strategy and tactics no one needs your opinion.”

Francois’s eyes went wide and he struggled to find a retort as the blue began to sparkle with wetness. Chabouillet sighed, knowing he would apologise later, but he also knew that Francois was not destined to be in the army. He was far too sensitive, he was also too talented, and he was wasted here.


	22. Chapter 22

_So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,_  
_And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly._

* * *

 

There was no one to be found in camp, as was usual for early mornings, but Chabouillet still felt the similar sense of unease he’d felt since the first attack. The soldiers no longer sat around crates and threw dice and played cards, they stood shiftily at their posts and clapped their friends on their shoulders every time they walked past, for there was a growing appreciation for the mortality of soldiers now that they had all witnessed death first hand. Chabouillet rejected the entire notion of the current war, it was a useless attempt at sovereignty that only served to underline King Louis’s own insecurities. Surely flinging men into the pit was not constructive for the goals of either side. Yet Chabouillet was in a position to serve not to question, although with the empty void of General still calling to him perhaps not for long.

The officer’s tents were silent, white canvas blowing gently in the soft warm wind of the early afternoon, coupled with the faint hum of insects and bristling trees it seemed an almost tender place. Most of his superior officers where convening together to discuss the situation, with glasses of brandy in their hands and furrows on their brow. It was not ideal.

Chabouillet had under his arm a bundle of white cloth stained darkly with blood, once bright red now faded into a grim shade of brown, it was his own shirt that had been dirtied as he held the wound on Allard’s neck closed. He was not a physician, but he knew there was very little chance of survival, and yet he still blamed himself for not being able to do anything. The spark in Allard’s eyes was already dimmed by the time he’d reached his convulsing body on the ground and still a light managed to slip away as he let go from life. Chabouillet gritted his teeth and kept walking towards the river. There was nothing he could do, it would not be useful to dwell on the events, he could only look forward.

The river too was quiet as the field and Chabouillet struggled to shake his sense of suspicion. Usually there were one or two soldiers here, bathing or simply enjoying leisure time, to be completely empty was strange. He slipped down to the bank and knelt in front of the water, lowering his hands into the stream, retreating immediately at the sudden cold. The blood would not come off, he knew this, and he had a fair few shirts to last him until they could get a reshipment of supplies, but something would not settle within him until he made an attempt to wash away the blood.

He plunged his hands along with the shirt into the water once more and took in a sharp breath. He closed his eyes feeling only the cold and the wet and there was a sense of peace in that, but almost as sharply a voice drew him out of his stupour. It wasn’t the gritty voice of a soldier complaining or making a sordid comment about their recent visit to the local brothel. It wasn’t in French either, but not in Spanish so no cause for worry, yet Chabouillet would not have feared either way for he recognised the voice. Light and airy, but with a rich substance behind it, singing in perfectly enunciated Latin, an opera that was far too cultured for any barracks soldier.

He stood back from the river and moved back up the bank so that he could stand behind an overhanging tree to watch. Francois cupped a handful of cold water and raised it above his head, not appearing to care for the temperature as it ran through his hair and down his back. He had his eyes closed as he sang and washed, his face locked in deep concentration. His voice was light, but it carried, and Chabouillet couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder back to the camp expecting to see a hoard of soldiers attracted by the sound. For it was an enticing sound, utterly beautiful, and Francois’s expression matched the anguish of the character whose words he sang. The sheet music for Castor et Pollux had rested on their piano for several weeks so Chabouillet recognised it easily. It also took him back to the moment when Monsieur Chabouillet Senior had held the sheet music in a clenched fist, his face contorted into an ugly expression of anger, before he reached for a match and held the incriminating music above the flame.

Francois had cried, as he had done many times before when their father had taken it upon himself to burn his sheet music. Despite being a renowned architect Chabouillet Sr held no semblance of artistic compassion. His demeanor was revolting and cruel, and he never ceased in reminding Francois that he was far from a man, and he could never hope to be a man if he continued in these artistic pursuits. The piano, he had been told - shouted at - was meant only for when guests came, and then it was to be played by a visiting pianist. Still, Francois was undeterred from smuggling home sheets of music from the local printers and playing the piano when his father wasn’t home. Occasionally Chabouillet indulged him and played whilst he sang. He saw nothing wrong with it, in fact he wished he could encourage his younger brother in his ambitions, even if they weren’t line with the traditional Chabouillet family way. Shortly before he had enlisted, Francois had disappeared late at night and hadn’t returned until the early hours of the morning. He might have got away with it if he hadn’t left the ticket stub from the opera in his inside coat pocket, and their obsessive father had of course rummaged through it on his return.

Their father had shouted, Francois had cried, Chabouillet had hovered awkwardly in the doorway, hoping to provide an alternative side of the argument where Francois could become a successful tenor in the Paris opera and not ruin the family name. Chabouillet Sr had not seen the merits in this argument and once he’d raised his hand once his temper could not be quelled. Throughout their childhood Chabouillet had taken beatings for Francois, admitted to childish crimes that resulted in thorough canings, and he had taken them willingly. But there was little he could do to stop it here. His father had an unceasing fury and a powerful swing. It could potentially have been bearable if his father hadn’t stopped between blows to spit venom at Francois, reminding him as the each sting began to cool that he would amount to nothing, that he was a disgrace to the family name, that he wished he’d had a daughter instead to spare him some of the embarrassment.

Chabouillet had been to and from training intermittently in the past weeks, and a few days after the incident he had been called to serve in Spain. After announcing this to his family Francois had decided it would be better to follow. With their mother dead Francois would be left in the house with just their father, and that he couldn’t bare. Not without Chabouillet to reassure him and present a willing shoulder to cry on.

Their father had been delighted in this change of attitude to more masculine pursuits and had supported it wholeheartedly. With his influence and money he had secured Francois a command and happily packed and waved them off as they made the journey south. It was no surprise that Francois did not suit the army and all that came with it. Had he known he had been sneaking away to the river to sing he would have come down to listen more often. It was truly a beautiful voice, a wasted talent, and Chabouillet had always been comforted by it.

The scene he beheld was almost Grecian in its presentation. A young blonde youth, bathing in the river, naked but for the covering of the rushing waters, his skin exceptionally pale from the cold. He knelt behind the tree and closed his eyes, letting Francois’s voice rush over him. His younger brother might assume that Chabouillet saved him, but Chabouillet was grateful for everything his brother had unwittingly given him too.

The sense of mythology was heightened as Chabouillet heard a rustle in the bushes and turned his head to see two soldiers bent in hiding watching the naked man in the water. It would have been innocent enough, except it wasn’t, it was lewd and Chabouillet was enraged instantly.

“Hey!” He shouted, not entirely sure where he was going with his thread. “You two! Don’t try and hide now, you cowards.”

Both men had retreated further into the undergrowth at the shout, their hands snapping away from their bodies and held purposefully out to the side. “Come out, now, or I’ll shoot you both and pretend I heard a wild animal stirring.”

Caught and trapped, both men emerged from their hiding spot, hands placating. “What on earth made you think this behaviour is acceptable? He’s an officer, three times your worth at least.”

One of the men opened their mouth to speak, but Chabouillet waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t want excuses. Back to camp. Now!”

He had been too easy on them, but he wasn’t sure what punishment was appropriate. All military punishments were made public information to the rest of the soldiers and this was something he didn’t want to attract attention to.

“Francois! Go put on some clothes.”

Francois was still standing in the river, the water rushing past his waist, curving round his delicate hips which his two hands now rested on. He looked up at Chabouillet thoroughly unimpressed.

“What did you do that for?”

“Excuse me?”

“Send them away like that, I keep trying to tell you to let me take care of myself, but you never listen.” Francois sighed and bent to dunk his head beneath the water, scrubbing at his hair with much more practicality than earlier, swiftly going through the motions of washing. “Well, you’ve ruined it now.”

He wrung the excess water from his hair then waded to the bank where he’d left his clothes. He wrapped a towel round his waist then sat back in the grass watching Chabouillet on the other side of the water.

“What have I ruined? Indecency?”

Francois shrugged and began combing his fingers through his hair before plaiting it down his back. “I can take care of myself.”

“You mean to say you knew they were there, is that it?”

Francois tilted his head to one side. “I’m more in control than you think I am.”

“But why? Your reputation is at stake here, if it got wind to the less sympathetic officers you’d be ruined.”

“I don’t give a damn about my reputation.” Francois laid back in the grass and stretched his arms above his head, gazing at the drifting afternoon clouds with a wistful expression. “You shouldn’t either, it’s bad for you. It’s better not to care.”

“It’s not just your reputation. It’s your life. You’ve been lucky, but it would kill me to see you on the wrong end of an angry mob.”

“Is there a right end of an angry mob?” Francois pouted, then he smiled and laughed. “You’re taking it all too seriously. I was bored, they were bored, we found a solution to our boredom.”

Chabouillet still looked furious and he was about to give another admonishment when they were interrupted by a violent sound from behind them. Chabouillet turned just in time to see the fragments of a shell go up in the air. Instinctively he stepped in front of Francois.

“Get out of here!” He shouted across the river. “Go!”

Francois hesitated for a moment. “They’re attacking from that side? But the enemy camp is on this side.” He gestured behind him on the bank.

“Well, clearly not anymore, just run!”

Another shell exploded, and they both heard a loud cry as shrapnel rained down upon the camp in the distance. Francois stared in shock for a moment then scrambled up off the grass and ran.


	23. Chapter 23

_Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,_   
_"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;_

* * *

 

“Seventeen dead from the original blast and three still missing.”

A soldier poked his head round the corner. “We found the general.”

“In one piece?”

The soldier made a face and stepped back outside the tent. Chabouillet sighed. “Make that eighteen dead and two missing then.”

Chabouillet was doing a very professional job keeping himself composed, especially considering the identity of one of those missing men. One of his superior officers patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll find him,” He said without much conviction, and Chabouillet nodded because he wasn’t sure what else he could do.

 


	24. Chapter 24

_Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head;_  
_Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"_

* * *

 

Chabouillet would always remember the sight of Francois’s nervous face as he watched the second bomb blast explode in the distance. He’d always remember that moment because it was the last time he ever saw his brother. It was not a satisfying ending. There was no body to bury, no grave to visit, so he’d set up a memorial in the Lachaise which he visited every year. He stood there with tears in his eyes and flowers in his hands and cursed his brother for being stupid enough to follow him. It was his fault, he knew that, and it would always be his fault. There was no way to atone.

Following the siege Chabouillet had been despondent, but had continued to give his commands and order the cavalry, though he’d also filed for dismissal as soon as Francois did not return that evening. A week or so after the bombardment Chabouillet had been inspecting the fields beyond the river that they’d recently captured and there Chabouillet had found a pale blue hair ribbon, innocuous in and of itself, but spotted with the smallest amount of dried blood.

Chabouillet never filed for the appropriate records to say his brother was dead. He never considered it necessary. It wasn’t hope that kept him from it, but guilty. If there was the possibility that his brother was still alive then there was the possibility that he was not a guilty man.

He’d returned to a different France to the one he’d left behind, a Paris in fear and confusion. His father was dead, not that he cared, but his first wife had also succumbed to cholera and this had left him numb. Father, brother, and wife, all in the space of a month. He found himself jobless, living off his inheritance, wandering the streets and drinking copious amounts of wine. Several months of this found him face down on a street of wet cobbles one spring morning and he barely noticed the small hands reaching for him to help him sit up or the cool cloth on his face. He wasn’t sure if it was a dream or a highly complex coping mechanism to cover the fact that he was likely being robbed, but he followed the pushes and pulls of the small hands until he was inside a warm room resting on a faded sofa.

Chabouillet now associated heaven with piles of books and his saviour with a woman named Marie Sophie Pagnest. He married his saviour within the month and decided to go into politics. There would surely be less danger there than on the battlefield…


	25. Chapter 25

_Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,_  
_Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;_

* * *

 

Gisquet’s office was off bounds to the gendarmes and all manner of officers too. He had been alarmed in the recent weeks to see so many of his men coming and going from his private room, not least due to the various incriminating implements he had collected in the cabinets and desk drawers. Unfamiliar faces startled Gisquet more than was appropriate for a man in the public eye. So when two officers appeared at his door, their coats drawn back deliberately to visibly show their weapons, Gisquet immediately told them to go away. It was not spoken in polite terms and yet Gisquet expected his orders to be followed at all times without question.

“By God, am I not allowed peace at this time?” Gisquet made no pretense of keeping his tone civil and his voice level, he spoke loudly and furiously. “Be off with you! Surely there are duties you would serve better than bothering me.”

“Monsieur,” One of the officers began, his tone resolutely flat. “We are bound to be here under order.”

“Whose orders?”

“Higher ones than yours,” The second officer blurted out. His lip had twisted into an ugly smirk and his fingers were no stroking the handle of the cudgel that rested in his belt. He was young with a sharp pointed face and graces that suggested he aimed higher than his rank. Gisquet eyed him suspiciously not bothering to hide his disdain.

“What is the matter with you boy?” The hand gripped the cudgel even tighter and Gisquet shook his head with a small laugh. “You mean to strike me, is that it? State your business or let me get on with this trying day.”

The officer who had spoken first, the one with more professional composure, took a step forward and raised his chin to give an air of authority. “We have orders for your arrest. You are to be taken to the Conciergerie with immediate effect.”

Gisquet stood still for a moment, his eyes wide in shock and his mouth agape. Then he shook his head in amusement and let out a short sharp laugh. “You have some nerve, I will give you that. Now enough of this nonsense, I beg of you to leave me be.”

“We were authorised to use force.”

Gisquet watched as the second younger man pulled his cudgel fully from his belt and slid it comfortably into his other palm. He stroked it with a disturbing fondness, fingers running up and down the smooth polished wood, Gisquet could practically see them tingling in delight and anticipation. Gisquet regarded the man’s face and frowned. “What’s your name?”

“Courbet.” The word finished there without the politeness of an added ‘Monsieur’, a sleight that did not go unnoticed by Gisquet.

“I have not seen you here before.”

“We do not work here.” Courbet’s smile was slimy. Gisquet felt increasingly repulsed by the man who had now raised the cudgel from its resting place in his palm and was now holding it aloft in preparation.

“Then you have no authority here,” Gisquet said softly. He had lost his humour, any mirth of the situation had long since fled as he realised that these men were serious. Still, he did not trust them to be honest and convey him to the Conciergerie, Gisquet had enemies he knew that all too well, he would not be surprised to find a disgruntled bourgeois had ordered him to be smuggled away from the Prefecture and disposed of. Gisquet would alert his own guards had the door to his office not been blocked. There was always escape through his private cabinet rooms, but he did not wish to risk revealing the entrance of such a place to these unseemly types.

“Gentlemen,” He began, willing that the tremour in his voice would disappear. “I would ask you one last time to grant me peace. Leave now and we shall say no more about this insolence.”

Courbet’s smile turned from a smooth pressed line into a broad grin that showed all his teeth in a truly predatory fashion. “It always pleases me when they do not cooperate.”

Gisquet watched as he readied the cudgel while his colleague reached into his coat pocket for a set of manacles. Gisquet felt the whole situation descend on him rather suddenly, his mind swam as it grasped for purchase and his whole body had tensed as it prepared for flight. He took several steps back, drawing his assailants further into the office. He extended his hands in a placating gesture that suggested he might cooperate, then with a sudden movement that surpassed his age and ability he threw his full weight at the smaller, younger man, then darted for the open door, running for the corridor beyond. It was late and whatever lights hadn’t been extinguished had been dimmed. Gisquet cursed himself for keeping long hours, but he could not bring himself to go home to an empty house as guilt rested heavy in his heart. Instead he sat in his office until the wick of his candle had burned all the way through and then wearily he set off for home in the dark. There were no officers remaining that could help fight for him, not even Chabouillet had stayed behind and he of all people would know what to do. Instead he ran for the antechamber which used to be the haven of three men and was now the office of one. Knowing it would be unlocked he pressed his weight against the door and threw it open.

“Monsieur Devaux!” He shouted into the small room, his voice echoing back behind him into the empty marble corridor. “Monsieur Devaux you must send a message to—”

His words were cut off by an intense pain in the back of his head, the force of the strike pushing him forward through the frame. The blow had not knocked him out, instead pain blossomed thick in front of his eyes and Gisquet gripped desperately to the door frame as he sank to his knees. A heavy hand was on his should, pulling him back, sliding down to his wrist and yanking it behind him along with the other. Gisquet had not felt police issue manacles on his wrists for some times, and now the sensation was far from desired. He tried to pull his arms away, but dazed and confused under the grip of two much younger men he was forced to succumb. He was dragged to his feet, his head aching terribly and his eyes watering.

“You were warned,” A voice hissed in his ear. “We will continue to use force if necessary, we have been instructed to.”

“Monsieur Gisquet!” Jules had finally collected all his senses and recovered from the shock of seeing Gisquet struck and manhandled and had followed the strange party out into the corridor. Without paying much heed to the men that flanked him, Jules went straight to Gisquet and reached out to grasp him. He was knocked back before he made it within arms reach. “What are you doing?” He cried out to the two men, his voice breaking.

They ignored him, dragging the still dazed Gisquet away from the antechamber and towards the Prefecture entrance. Gisquet stumbled and fell into the arms that pulled him, but the officers did not seem to care if Gisquet walked out or was dragged out without taking a step himself.

“Monsieur Gisquet! What do I do?”

Something in Jules’s voice got through to Gisquet’s mind as his consciousness was struggling so desperately to slip away. Something about the anguish in his voice reached Gisquet and he began to fight once more, digging his heels firmly into the tiled floor. “Chabouillet,” He called back breathlessly. “I need Chabouillet.”

Jules had been frozen to the spot for a few moments, but now he sprinted forward, reaching Gisquet before he was pulled out the door. The older guard shoved Gisquet into the care of his colleague and then rounded on Jules. In an instant he had pulled the flint lock pistol from his belt and now held it squarely at Jules’s chest. “This does not concern you. If you interfere further I will not hesitate to shoot.”

“Dear God not him, please,” Gisquet made an attempt to escape towards Jules but it was futile. Thoughts of his intense failure ran through his head, for Jules was the only secretary left intact and he could not bare to lose him too. “Do as he says Monsieur Devaux, Jules, it will all be fine, I promise.”

The pistol was kept trained on Jules as Gisquet was pulled out of the building. Jules waited a few moments then ran out into the street just in time to watch as Gisquet was pulled into a nondescript carriage which had heavy black drapes covering the windows. “Where are you taking him?” He shouted at the men, ignored once more, but Gisquet upon hearing his voice turned back.

“The Concier—” A hand covered his mouth, muffling the crucial words, and then the carriage door slammed and the horse was spurred on into the night.

Jules was struck for several moments, unable to move, only his shaking hands pointing towards the fact that his pulse was still beating within him, thrumming as fast as the horses hooves as the sped off along the cobbles. It wasn’t until the carriage had disappeared completely that Jules regained enough of his senses to act. He ran down the rest of the marble steps towards the main road. It was dark and silent, a light drizzle had begun to fall from the sky, and the clouds were thick enough to hide the moon. Jules shivered, wondering if a fiacre would even take him when he was without an outer coat. He hailed one down anyway and he murmured a quiet prayer when the carriage halted before him. He was about to climb into the bay when the driver shouted at him.

“Oi, have you got money somewhere?”

Jules patted his waistcoat pockets, then his trousers. He had none, but that would not stop him. “Yes, Monsieur.”

“Show me you’re not lying.”

Jules’s heart was thrumming in his chest. “Monsieur, I need you to deliver me to number 226 on Saint Martin which is the address of Monsieur Chabouillet, Secretaire of the first beaureau. He is my employer and will happily pay you, Monsieur this is an extremely urgent matter and I beg you to trust me.”

The driver snorted a laugh and whipped his horse into action, spurring both horse and carriage away down the street. The force knocked Jules back and he stumbled in shock. No one had ever had cause to doubt him before, he had always been honest, and now in this most crucial of moments fate would let him down. Life was unfair in so many cruel ways and Jules had been learning this over and over for the past few weeks, so much so that all the love he had gained for his precious found family had begun to grow tainted. 226 Saint Martin was ten minute’s walk away, Jules could do it in less than five at a run. He was beginning to regret not wearing a coat as the rain began to fall heavier, a thick sleet that caught in his eyes and stung his face, quickly enough his shirtsleeves were soaked through to the skin and the cold burned there too. He turned left down Quai de Gevres and began to run as fast as he could down the road that led in a straight line towards Chabouillet’s house. He barely spared a glance for the fashionable apartments that lined the edge of the Marais district, he paid no heed to late night walkers and passersby. As he passed Rue Rambuteau he slipped on a wet cobblestone, his feet giving out beneath him, and he landed on the pavement with a heavy smack, grazing his cheek on the black steel railings that surrounded the aristocratic homes. Jules picked himself up quickly, paying to attention to any injury he might have sustained, channeling all his energy into running towards number 226. He swung round the gate at a sharp angle and made his way to the door at a lightning fast pace. He raised both fists and began banging hard.

“Monsieur Chabouillet!” He shouted, his head twitching towards a light that had come on in the house next door. He saw the rustling of curtains and wondered if he was dragging Chabouillet’s reputation into the gutter simply by being here. He wasn’t sure whether his face was wet with rain or tears and he could hardly feel the stinging pain in his knuckles as he banged his numb hands on the door. “Monsieur Chabouillet” He yelled again, and then added in a small desperate voice; “Please.”

He slumped against the door, almost tripping forward as it swung back beneath him. He gazed up into Chabouillet’s eyes as if he were Christ himself, and indeed he looked the part in his deep red dressing gown, holding a candle that illuminated his face and gold and silver curls. “Monsieur Devaux, what on earth are you doing here? This hour is far too late, and… Monsieur Devaux?”

Jules had turned from gripping the door frame to reaching for Chabouillet’s shoulders and grasping the material of his robe. He hung on for dear life, panting and gasping for the air he had spent so fast on his run. “Monsieur Gisquet! Please you have to help him, he’s—! He’s—! Oh God!”

Chabouillet placed a hand on Jules’s shoulder to steady him and raised the candle to his face. “Monsieur Devaux, you’re bleeding.”

Jules tried to shake some sense into himself, he knew he was being hysterical and it wasn’t helping, but Chabouillet was just standing there and didn’t appear to understand the situation. Perhaps by gripping tight to Chabouillet’s arms for balance and gazing into his eyes he could make him understand what he had just witnessed. His own gasps for breath seemed utterly foreign and repulsive to him now. He barely felt Chabouillet’s warm hand on his cold cheek, so numbed was he by the cold, and he found his legs carrying him forward even as Chabouillet gently ushered him inside.

“You’re frozen to the bone, what have you been doing running around outside without a coat on?”

“Monsieur Gisquet,” Jules said weakly. “Please he’s… he’s…”

“Shhh, easy now.”

Jules could tell that the wetness on his cheeks was tears now. They were burning through the ice of his skin, warming his cheeks into a pink flush, and his eyes were stinging as the tears swelled. Chabouillet had guided him into his front room and set him down in a chair, and was now kneeling before the fire. He laid down his candle and struck a match, dropping it into the logs and stoking them until they burned bright. Jules was breathing steadily, calming down as best he could, the tears falling slower. Chabouillet stood and turned to him with a calm expression and said, “Now then Jules, why don’t you tell me what happened?” Jules couldn’t take the kindness, or the calm, or the way Chabouillet had so tenderly used his first name. He began sobbing, placing his face in his hands, feeling helpless and embarrassed and many more things in between. He barely heard the soft padding footsteps on the carpet behind him, so engrossed was he in his pitiful weeping that the small hand snaking onto his shoulder hardly registered.

But the gentle kiss on top of his head did, and he lifted his face from his hands to glance up at Ernest, the firelight flicking off his soft features, the small sad smile so out of place on his usually mirthful visage. He was wearing a robe not dissimilar to Chabouillet’s except Ernest’s was a pale blue colour and also completely swamped him, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the tie wound about his waist twice. No doubt it was one of Chabouillet’s own that he had been lent. Jules took this in along with Ernest’s own face, the fading bruise on his cheek, the cuts across his temple, the spark in his eyes that had almost diminished but was not quite burnt out yet. Ernest’s slipped his hand down Jules’s shoulder and came round to face him before lowering onto his knees before him and taking his hands. Jules looked down at him dumbfounded, even as Ernest’s tangible grip held tight to his palm he couldn’t quite fathom that he was there before him. Ernest closed his hand round one of Jules’s wrists and gently pulled it towards him, pressing Jules’s palm to his cheek and placing his own over the top.

“It’s me Jules, it’s really me.”

Jules’s stared without speaking, feeling Ernest’s skin beneath his fingertips. Jules broke his stare to briefly glance at Chabouillet who had tactfully turned to face the fireplace to give them a little semblance of privacy. Jules’s was grateful for this, but all he could only think of Ernest before him, real Ernest, safe under Chabouillet’s own roof, yet despite all this Jules’s was still aware that his fingers were brushing against a fading ugly bruise. Ernest rose on his knees and placed both his hands along with Jules’s own on Jules’s lap, then leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was gentle and unassuming and Jules did not make any physical effort to kiss back, but Ernest didn’t seem to mind. Ernest looked fondly into his eyes, then frowned, his fingers tracing over Jules’s own cheek. “Who did this?”

“I don’t know. Me, I think.”

“My poor sweet Jules, how I’ve missed you.” Ernest fell into Jules and kissed his mouth again, tasting the cold evening rain on his lips, blessing them with the warmth of his own. “It’s safe here, I promise, but why did you come?”

At this question Chabouillet turned from the fireplace and faced them both. He clasped his hands behind his back and regarded the pair of them with a severe frown, a deep breath wracked through him. “I take it Monsieur Périer has made his move, is that right Jules?”

Jules looked to Chabouillet and nodded silently. “I dare not speak ill of those above my station, but I believe so.”

Ernest’s eyes flicked between the pair of them. “What does he mean? What do you mean?”

Jules’s hand snaked into Ernest’s and he held it tightly as he looked to him. “They took Monsieur Gisquet away.”

Ernest froze, the colour drained from his face and in the dark light of the fire he suddenly looked pale as a ghost. He looked to Jules desperately, hoping he might contradict his previous statement, but nothing else escaped Jules lips.

“Do you know where?”

Jules shook his head. “He tried to say but-… but—”

Ernest pressed a finger to Jules’s lips, stopping the sob that threatened to fall. “Monsieur Chabouillet will know what to do, you did the right thing by coming.”

“Monsieur Chabouillet, do you think he’ll kill him?”

Chabouillet shook his head. “No, although I doubt he’ll escape unscathed. He means to teach him a lesson in obedience, and Monsieur Périer does not particularly care for the well being of his subjects.”


	26. Chapter 26

_He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,_  
_Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!_

* * *

 

“Well well well.”

“Monsieur Périer?” Gisquet sprung up at the sound of that voice, it gave him hope like the dying man in the desert who sees the oasis, thirsty beyond belief yet given false hope by the cruelty of nature. “Thank goodness you have come for me, there has been a terrible mistake.”

“You’re a sorry sight.” Casimir did not come close to the bars, but stayed next to the opposite wall leaving his face in shadow. He slowly began to remove his gloves as if he had all the time in the world and not a single care for the man in the cell before him. “Why don’t you tell me what happened in your own words?”

“I have no idea, Monsieur, it all happened so suddenly. I was in my office when two brutes came to drag me away most violently. I have yet to be given an explanation of the charges and I have been placed in this commoner’s cell. I have experienced such distress Monsieur Périer.” Gisquet had been curled up pitifully against the cell wall, but now he rose to his knees and crawled towards the bars. He extended his hands through them, reaching for his patron, his face a plaintive expression of sorrow. “I am so comforted to see you here.”

Casimir regarded Gisquet’s outstretched hand for a moment. He had no intention of taking it, he fully intended to make Gisquet suffer as much as possible, force him to wallow in despair until he craved Casimir more than ever. “You look a mess. Are they feeding you?”

Gisquet’s face fell a little as he realised Casimir was not stepping forward to comfort him. He had pictured this union as something much sweeter. Casimir kneeling before the bars and taking his hands, perhaps even reaching into the cell to stroke his cheek or caress his hair, a small part of Gisquet had even dared to hope for a kiss.

“It has been two days?”

“Three.”

“I have been given bread twice.”

“It is more than you deserve.”

In the quiet echoey cell Gisquet was sure he clearly heard his heart crack at these words. He retracted his hand and knelt motionless as his eyes slid down to Casimir's feet. His patron’s face was still in shadow, but what dim light the candle provided illuminated sharp lines of disappointment, and this was more than Gisquet could bare.

“Monsieur Périer please,” He said softly, fixing his gaze on a solitary crack in the stone before him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath in through his nose, ignoring the prison stench as best he could, then raised his eyes to Casimir with what he considered deepest humility. “I don’t know what I’ve done.”

“You disobeyed me.”

“Monsieur!” Gisquet’s voice cracked in despair. “How? Please tell me how?”

Casimir sniffed in disdain and reached into his coat pocket to withdraw a silk handkerchief, and holding it between two fingers held it up to his nose. “I don’t wish to remain in this place for long.”

“Don’t leave me here!”

“Has no one come to visit you?” Casimir’s tone was deft and sickening, as if he knew for certain that no one had come to see Gisquet in this place. Gisquet of course could not be aware that these strings were pulled by Casimir himself and that Chabouillet had come to the prison gates demanding entry, shouting bloody murder and threatening all manner of punishments on those who would not let him pass. However, when orders came from Casimir Périer, they were not disobeyed.

Gisquet shoot his head silently.

“Oh my little Henri, I suppose we must learn to allow our pets to leave the nest when they grow, but look at you now. Silly boy, I gave you the tools to fly and yet you insisted on falling from the nest straight onto the ground.”

“I can make amends.”

“Perhaps. Although, I do not see why I should give you the chance.”

“If only you would tell me what I have done,” Gisquet pleaded. He extended a hand from the bars once more and Périer stepped back in disgust, yet Gisquet was not deterred. He stretched his fingers desperately, licking his lips and glancing up at Casimir’s shadowy face with eyes filled with tears. “Let me do something for you now.”

“I thought I’d never find one quite like you again,” Casimir said, his voice carrying in the empty corridor. “So blindly obedient, so talented, so…” He paused, reflecting for a moment. “I would say beautiful, but time fades what he cannot grasp.”

“I do not please you any more, Monsieur? Is that is? After everything I’ve done you would throw me away once I have served my usefulness.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am not a wasteful man.”

Casimir took a deep breath. “You have been lied to.”

Gisquet skirted back from the bars and turned his face up to Casimir’s, he looked confused, but he was also dazed from hunger and thirst.

“Monsieur Chabouillet is a liar.”

“No,” Gisquet said quietly. “No he isn’t.”

Gisquet heard more footsteps and then a second man came into view of the bars. Señor Delgado looked just as severe as Casimir, he glanced down with distaste at Gisquet and glanced around the prison walls.

“I must admit,” He said carefully. “I was wrong at first. I assumed you were all protecting him, this criminal, I thought you all knew who he was. I had trained my little spies so well I was surprised at their failure to extract this information, but it seems he has deceived you all too.”

Gisquet was shaking his head, his eyes were closed, and he brought his hands up to his face as if he might cover his ears too. “No, no, nothing you say about him could be true. I won’t believe it.”

“You know he was in the army before he came to you?”

“That is not a secret he has kept from me.”

“He killed many men.”

“In the line of duty.”

“No Monsieur Gisquet, you do not understand, he was a murderer. He slaughtered without a moment’s thought.”

Gisquet was slowly retreating from the bars, pressing himself hard into the opposite wall. “That is not the man I know.”

“Many men have their heads turned by war. Monsieur Chabouillet was no different, but he went too far. He lost his brother in a siege and something within him snapped.”

“Stop,” Gisquet whispered. “Don’t. I don’t want to know.”

“The general, the superior officer, was killed in the attack, and so our friend Monsieur Chabouillet was placed in charge. Wracked with grief, he called for the unthinkable, he ordered the execution of every Spanish prisoner under French control. One of those men was…” Delgado trailed off.

There was a long moment of silence before Casimir stepped forward and gripped one of the bars, his metal wring sending a sharp clang round the small room as it connected with the cell.

“You don’t know this man, Henri. He would turn and kill you without a moment’s thought. But you know me, you know I would never hurt you. You went behind my back and you betrayed the trust of your guest by digging through archives and trying to find out the identity of Señor Delgado, when really you should have been trying to find out about the man who asked you to do it. Do you understand why I had to bring you here?”

Gisquet was shaking his head still, his eyes squeezed tight shut. Casimir and Delgado shared a glance together before Delgado inclined his head. Casimir called for a guard. “Have him brought to me, a physician may sedate him if he doesn’t cooperate.”

Gisquet didn’t struggle as he was manacled and dragged to a waiting carriage round the back of the prison and then driven in silence towards Casimir’s house.


	27. Chapter 27

_With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,_  
_Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue --_

* * *

 

“How long has it been?” Gisquet murmured, roused from his stupor as a bowl of food was kicked towards him.

“Time is for men and you are less than a man.”

“Please.”

Casimir sneered down at him. “You’ll be pleased to know that Señor Delgado has filed an official report and I was happy to act as a character witness. Monsieur Chabouillet has been arrested.”

Gisquet was silent. He’d spent the past few days, or perhaps weeks now, reevaluating every moment he’d spent with Chabouillet in his head. He just could not see the man as a murder.

“May I see him?”

“What?”

“Would you please…I know you can-…I need to see him, I need to hear him say it himself. Let me go to him.”

“You think you can tell me what to do? You think you can even make civil requests?” Gisquet flinched as Casimir shouted, his voice booming in the small room. “I do not think you understand. I own you. I own everything you are, everything you will ever be, and I will not let you go.”

Gisquet’s palm ran up to his face, it pressed into his temples and eyelids in an anguished gesture. Casimir’s basement was very dark and he wasn’t sure if he could even see properly any more. “I am yours, Monsieur. I have always been yours, and yes, I always will be, but please. Let me see him.”

“You are still making requests,” Casimir shouted. He reached forward and hooked his fingers through the metal loop in the front of Gisquet’s collar and yanked it forward. Gisquet stumbled and fell across the floor. “If I decree that you never see that man again then you will not complain against that ruling. He will likely be executed regardless.”

Casimir let go of Gisquet’s collar and let him collapse fully. He was breathing heavily, both of them were, loud breaths colliding and overlapping. Tears were beginning to pool in Gisquet’s eyes, sliding down his cheeks and into his open mouth.

“Oh for goodness sakes. You’re pathetic.”

Gisquet’s fingers slipped on the floor and his feet gave out beneath him. He fell to his knees and bent forward, spreading his hands out before him and bowing his head.

“Please, Monsieur,” He whimpered, voice shaking uncontrollably, and now that the first tears had begun to fall there was no stopping them. “Please, I will do anything, just let me see him again.”

“What will you do?”

“Anything.”

“That is a useless offer.” Casimir stared down at Gisquet prostrating himself on the floor, face expressionless. “You already owe me everything.”

“Kill me, Monsieur.”

“What?”

“Take my life in exchange for his. I am ready, I would sacrifice myself for him.”

Casimir laughed, the sound cold and harsh. Gisquet winced in pain. His hands shook as he reached forward to grasp Casimir’s feet, pulling himself further towards them, pressing his lips to the shining boots.

“You think I have spent all these years training you so that I could take your life. You are not a sacrificial lamb.”

“Neither is he.”

“You have been foolish.”

“N-no...oh God.” Gisquet sobbed openly, his tears dripping onto Casimir’s immaculate boots. “Not André...not him he’s--...”

“A murderer?”

Gisquet’s hand grasped out for Casimir’s ankle. Casimir looked down in disgust, shaking him off and kicking his hand away.

“You want to see him? Will that shut you up?”

Gisquet nodded furiously. “Yes, God yes, please.”

“Very well.”

Gisquet looked up, his face wet with tears, eyes rimmed with red and his cheeks flushed. Casimir sneered at him with disgust. “You’re pathetic.”

Gisquet did not dare respond, but instead rose to shaky feet and reached for Casimir’s hand. He held it tightly and brought it to his lips, pressing them to Casimir’s palm in intense reverence. Casimir snatched it away and reached for Gisquet’s collar instead.

Gisquet allowed himself to be pulled along, his feet tripping over themselves, stumbling as Casimir yanked without relent. He dragged him to the stairs where the light from the trap door shone down and then shoved him back into the room. Gisquet gripped to the stone wall, tripping until he landed in a heap.

Casimir followed him, taking his time. As he reached the crumpled mess that was Gisquet he touched him with his foot. “Get up.” Gisquet tried to push himself up on his forearm, but Casimir lost patience too quickly. He reached down and took a handful of his hair in a tight grip and dragged him further back into the basement.

Gisquet had renewed his sobs once more. Casimir dragged him further into the room until they were far from the light that the doorway at the top of the stairs provided. Casimir threw Gisquet down by the hair and moved forward until he could feel the stone of the wall at the back of the basement room. He leaned down and picked up a chain that was attached solidly into the stone brick and walked the length back to Gisquet. Gisquet was still distracted and he would not even think to protest as Casimir clicked the chain into place on Gisquet’s collar.

“Stupid boy, blind hope is all you will get. You honestly care that much for him?”

Gisquet nodded blindly and Casimir laughed. “Then perhaps I should bring him down to join you.”

He stepped back just as Gisquet tried to grasp at his legs again. “No, please!”

“Very well, you’ll never see him again.”

“Monsieur, please!”

“Please what? What are you about to ask of me now? Have you forgotten everything about the way I taught you to beg? You are a disgrace.”

Gisquet’s fingers were pressing into the metal of his collar, feeling along the links until they reached the wall and then tugging harshly. He was fighting a futile battle against cold locked metal.

“I would hate to let you go after so many years of impeccable service, and I do not see you so far gone that we should have to start again. Relearning a few manners will suffice I’m sure.”

“Please don’t leave me down here Monsieur! Please! I’ll be good! I promise!”

"Oh I’m sure you’ll be good Monsieur Gisquet. I shall ensure that at the very least.”

“You cannot keep me here, people will notice, people will come looking for me, Monsieur Chabouillet has friends who--”

“Ha! André Joseph Chabouillet is no threat to me. Only slightly less pathetic than yourself, and not quite as impressionable. A shame really, he has quite a handsome face, I’m sure if he were more pliable he would have proved more useful to me. It is too late now.”

Gisquet sobbed as Casimir climbed the stairs and slammed the door behind him.


	28. Chapter 28

_Thinking only of her crested head -- poor foolish thing! At last,_  
_Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast._

* * *

  
Chabouillet spent several days shouting uselessly at the walls of the Conciergerie before he realised it wasn't working.

“They’ll let him out eventually,” Marie told him soothingly. “They can’t keep him there forever.”

“I don’t believe he’s even in there at all,” Chabouillet said quietly.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and not a sign of Gisquet showed up anywhere. Chabouillet found himself caring for three secretaries without jobs who were now all crowded in his own house.

“Maybe he escaped.”

“No,” Chabouillet murmured. He looked at Ernest who was curled up before his fire, Jules’s arm slung over his shoulders, Nicolas asleep with his head resting on Ernest's lap his head still wrapped in a thick bandage. “No, he’s not there, but he didn’t escape.”

* * *

 

“I cannot leave.”

“What are you talking about? I’m taking you out of here right now.”

“André,” Gisquet murmured weakly.

“Yes, that’s me, I’m here.”

Chabouillet wiped the blood from his face, knowing that Casimir would not stay knocked out for long. It hadn’t been a grand stretch of the imagination to search Casimir’s house, and when that did not yield results to search his basement. Chabouillet had taken a spike to the bolt on the wall and was now attempting to drag Gisquet from the basement.

“He will kill him. He will kill André.”

“Nonsense, he won’t be able to touch him.”

"He has him! He’s had him all this time! Arrested he told me, for...for something unspeakable, but then even that was not true. André, my dear André.”

“Henri,” Chabouillet said softly, laying a hand on Gisquet’s bare shoulder. “He doesn’t have André.”

“He does!” Gisquet cried out. “I have hurt him so much already, every time I disobey Casimir goes to him and he delivers my rightful punishment. He returns with blood on his hands and he just laughs. My poor André, I've killed him, it's all my fault, he’s a murderer but I forgive him.”

“He’s a what?”

“A murderer.”

“Okay, let’s unpack that when we get home.”

Gisquet wailed loudly and gripped to Chabouillet’s arm. Chabouillet watched him in alarm. Gisquet's eyes were glazed and unfocused and all his words were slurred, Chabouillet raised a palm to Gisquet's forehead and it came away burning hot and sweating. "My God, Henri, listen to me, listen carefully. Casimir Périer does not have André Chabouillet, I know this for certain. He is…he’s with me.”

Gisquet raised a pitiful face towards Chabouillet, his cheeks wet with tears, his eyes glazed and unfocused. “You…? I don’t understand.”

“He lied to you. He’s always lied to you. You cannot trust a word that comes out that man’s mouth, and damn it Henri I wish you’d believed me when I told you the same all those years ago.”

“No,” Gisquet whispered. “No, he wouldn’t lie. Not to me.”

“He has. You fool.” Chabouillet reached out to touch Gisquet’s cheek, but Gisquet pushed him away. “Henri, stop it!”

“I don’t believe you. I don’t even know who you are.”

Chabouillet glanced down at Gisquet’s body, taking in the bruised skin and visible ribs. “My God, just look what he’s done to you.”

“He wouldn’t lie to me, he wouldn’t, he loves me.”

“He’s starved you! Beaten you senseless and taken away the things you love, for heaven’s sake, he has you drugged up and chained and locked in his own Goddamn basement. You’re too drug addled to even recognise me! Are these the actions of a man in love?”

“You do not understand, it has always been this way between us, this is what our love is.”

“I am desperately hoping that you have retained some semblance of sanity, but by God you are testing me now.”

“Sane or insane I love him, and he loves me. That is the end of it.”

“Oh to hell it is. You can come with me willingly, or I will render you incapacitated and carry you out unconscious. Your choice.”

“You claim to care for me more than he, yet you admit to wishing to assault me?”

“Has he not done that and worse to you already? Now, enough of this, answer me, will you come?”

Gisquet gritted his teeth. He was breathing heavily, his body gulping down as much of the damp and musty air that he could, his bruised ribs aching as they heaved. He looked up defiantly at Chabouillet, his expression cracked like glass, aching and weary. With all the energy he could muster he propped himself up, spat clean in Chabouillet’s face, then collapsed on shaking limbs. Chabouillet calmly wiped his face with the back of his hand, sighed, and regarded Gisquet’s trembling form on the floor. He was barely conscious enough already.

He reached into his inner pocket and withdrew the small bottle with the cotton wool stopper that he had reserved for use on Perrier. A small amount would do now. Gisquet was not in a position to protest as Chabouillet held it beneath his nose and waited for him to breath again. What little tension that was left in Gisquet’s body slumped away and he lay motionless on the floor.

“Forgive me,” Chabouillet murmured down at him, then he slipped one arm beneath his waist and the other beneath his knees, lifting up the limp body and cradling it towards him. Gisquet was so light in his arms, weak and emaciated, it was almost like carrying a child. Still, it would have been easier had Gisquet not been stubborn and had instead chosen to walk out on his own legs like a man. Regardless of Gisquet’s decision, Chabouillet knew he was not in his right mind and he could not leave his friend and Prefect in this desolate place.

“Why have you proven to be such a nuisance?” Chabouillet asked Gisquet’s unconscious form as he maneuvered the door handle. “And why so blind?”

Back upstairs in the hallway Casimir was beginning to stir. Chabouillet had dealt him one hell of a blow, but it hadn’t been enough to kill him. Marie was sitting on the bottom step watching him twitch. She looked up as Chabouillet entered.

“Have you got him?”

“Yes, but don’t look he’s indecent.”

Marie rolled her eyes. “I can manage- dear God! What’s he done to him?”

“He’s out of his mind, completely drugged up.”

“So what did you do?”

“I drugged him a bit more.”


	29. Chapter 29

_And now dear little children, who may this story read,_  
_To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:_

* * *

 

“Cholera?”

“Yes.”

Chabouillet was holding Gisquet’s hand as he rested in bed. It had been a painful detox where Gisquet had screamed and cried in confusion and pain and fear, grasping for Chabouillet’s hand and calling him ‘Monsieur Périer’ or ‘Ernest’ or ‘André’ or sometimes even ‘father’. Chabouillet had endured it patiently and when Gisquet was well enough to exclaim in further detail he carefully extracted the story from him.

“Tell me, honestly, and I don’t mind if it’s true,” Gisquet had said quietly. “Did you order the execution of all your Spanish prisoners?”

Chabouillet looked down, his expression pained for a moment. Gisquet gasped. “It is true! Oh dear God, I hoped it would be a lie but—”

“Calm yourself. It’s…it’s not true. Some powder kegs were left out in the rain and we assumed them inactive. It was an accident, but it did happen under my watch, we lost some of our own men too.”

“Oh.”

“That’s the truth, but the story that spread among the Spanish ranks was decidedly different. I checked, there was a Delgado among the ranks that were lost, and that much be the rumour that Señor Delgado heard. In a way, I can’t blame him, I have always sought justice for my own brother.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

Gisquet smiled sadly. “Rather an anti-climax really. I was hoping you were actually an insane mass-murderer, it would certainly make things more exciting.”

“The Prefecture is busy enough without any of that nonsense.”

“If you say so.”

Chabouillet sighed and leaned down to kiss Gisquet on top of his forehead. “You need more rest or that doctor will have my neck.”

"Cholera," Gisquet murmured again. "Really?"

"I'm afraid so, it's unfortunate really, I never had the chance to kill him."

"I thought you weren't a murderer."

"There's still time."

Gisquet laughed which led to a violent coughing fit as the motion stirred the pain in his lungs and ribs. He'd been breathing in the damp air of Casimir's basement for months and the doctor remarked that it was a miracle he hadn't caught pneumonia. 

"Where's Señor Delgado?" He asked once the coughs had subsided. 

"Gone. He fled as soon as he couldn't rely on Casimir for diplomatic immunity and is now safely back in his position in Spain. I almost pity him. Señor Montenegro was arrested for pick pocketing and after a search they found an assortment of papers pilfered directly from Prefecture drawers, very valuable documents that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, you should start locking your office Henri. Señor Aguinaldo has been charged with assault, although we're all still trying to convince Monsieur Pinel to gather up some courage and give testimony at the trial. The third, I forget his name, is missing."

"Cholera," Gisquet repeated softly. 

"You weren't listening at all were you?"

"It just doesn't seem right." 

Gisquet's lip trembled and before he could stop himself he was crying, tears falling down his cheeks and his body shaking with painful sobs. 

"I'm sorry," He said through the tears. "I know it's stupid to cry after everything he's done, but I can't help it, I knew nothing else for years. I had nothing to care about my whole life." Gisquet raised his tear stained face and caught Chabouillet's eye, his lips suddenly parting. "Except..." The sobs jolted one of his broken ribs and he winced in pain. 

Chabouillet leaned forward to hold him still, stroking one hand through his hair and murmuring soothing whispers in his ear; "It's alright, you're allowed to cry, no one will blame you." He drew back for a moment and sighed. "Although, don't cry when Ernest comes to visit, he'll only start crying too, and then it will just be one big mess."

He smiled and Gisquet smiled back despite the tears, closing his eyes as Chabouillet leaned in to kiss him again, this time very tenderly on the lips.

 


	30. Chapter 30

_Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,_  
_And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly._

* * *

 

The funeral was a large affair featuring a cast from across Paris. Diplomats and politicians all attended to display their grief, all the while jostling for their certain rise in rank. Casimir Périer’s reach was great and his influence strong, but now he was dead there was nothing he could hold over the people he once controlled.

Gisquet attended the funeral as was proper and he needed to keep up appearances despite Chabouillet’s protests that he wasn’t well enough. He rested on a cane half the time and clung to Chabouillet’s arm the other half.

“Are you okay?”

“I suppose,” Gisquet said. “I haven’t quite processed it all yet.”

“You don’t need to right away.”

“I still have you.”

Chabouillet almost wanted to groan. “I’m your friend Henri, and I’m happy to be your friend, but I’m not replacing him. No one can own you now but yourself.”

The mourners dissipated out of the graveyard with sombre looks and Gisquet and Chabouillet waited until they were alone. Gisquet stared up at the statue that adorned the top of Casimir’s grave, tall and imposing, a figure of bronze twice his living height.

“It’s unnervingly lifelike, don’t you think?”

“It’s not him.” Chabouillet pressed Gisquet’s hand. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, felt sure he was a flash of something blonde and blue in the distance, but when he blinked it was gone. Lachaise was full of angels and demons, the statues could play tricks on the mind.

He turned to Gisquet and took hold of his face in his hands, cupping his cheeks softly. He gazed at Gisquet for a moment and sighed, the pads of his thumbs stroking gently.

“Well, get on with it,” Gisquet said, rolling his eyes.

“Impatient as always.”

Chabouillet leaned in and bridged the gap, allowing their lips to touch, the spring air blew around them as they kissed in full view of Casimir’s monument, and Chabouillet felt Gisquet lean closer into his touch. When they finally parted Gisquet was smiling and his eyes were bright.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in ages,” Chabouillet said, almost wanting to laugh.

“Don’t get used to it, I feel exhausted, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk all the way back to the road and we can’t very well hail a carriage to his grave.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t fit between the graves now would it, André.”

“Quite right. Then I suppose I’ll have to carry you.”

Gisquet took hold of his cane as Chabouillet put his hands beneath Gisquet’s knees and back and lifted him, cradling him gently and holding him close into his body as he carried him towards the road.

“How shall we explain this if someone sees?” Gisquet asked, laughing.

“We don’t. We will simply glare at them. Henri Joseph Gisquet you shall never have to explain yourself to anyone ever again so long as we both shall live.”


End file.
